/  s&eiiwMeoizs 


">  >~i?."3'- 


"iter" 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


{^s7/h<^  (j?  at^<*^<*<£ 


^,r^^    /Jrya 


THE 


Miscellaneous  Plays 


of 


Edwin  Booth 


•<" 


Edited  by 

WILLIAM  WINTER 


Volume  III 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  PENN   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
1899 


PR  124^ 


Copyright  1899  by  The  Pcnn  Publishing  Company 


vol.  rn 


preface. 

t  /  HIS  volume  contains  the  principal  plays,   aside  from 
those  of  Shakespeare,  that  were  included  by  Edwin 
Booth  in  his  customary  repertory, — namely,  "Rich- 
elieu," "The  Fool's  Revenge,1'  "Brutus,"   "Ruy  Bias," 
and  "Don   Ccesar  de  Bazan."      In  addition  to  these,   he 
occasionally  presented  "A  New  Way  to  Pay   Old  Debts," 
' '  The  Iron  Chest, "  "The  Apostate, "  "The  Lady  of  Lyons, ' ' 
and  "The  Stranger," — impersonating  Sir  Giles  Overreach, 
Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  Pescara,  Claude  Melnotte,  and  the 
sad  and  cynical  hermit  husband  of  Mrs.  Haller.     He  had, 
in    his    lime,  played  scores  of  parts.      Old  records  that  I 
possess  name  him  as  the  representative  of  Wilford,  Hemeya, 
Titus,    Graiiano,    Cassio,   Laertes,   Edgar,    Mr.    Dombey, 
Richmond,    Charles  II,  Dazzle,  Frank  Heartall,  Captain 
Absolute,  Charles  Surface,  Colonel  Mannering,  and  Young 
Marlowe.      The  list  might  be  largely  augmented.     Edwin 
Booth,  essentially  a  tragedian,  attained  to  greatness  in  the  act- 
ing of  tragedy,  but  he  reached  that  eminence  by  the  practical 
development  and  discipline  of  his  faculties  in  the  embodiment 
of  many  and  widely  diversified  parts   as  well   as  by  the 
power  of  his  genius,  the  charm  of  his  personality,  and  the 
force  of  his  character.      One  of  his  early  embodiments  was 
that  of  Henry  II,  in  a  play  on  that  king' s  life  by  Messrs. 
Hollister  and  Champlin,  produced  at  New  Orleans  in  i8jp. 
This  performance  was  not  given  elsewhere,  and  I  never  saw 
it,  but  the  record  of  it  is  cordial  with  admiration,  and  Booth 
vol.  in  v 


VI  PREFACE 

mentioned  the  play  to  ?ne  with  sympathy  and  approval. 
Another  half-forgotten  performance  of  his  was  that  of 
Eugene  de  Morny,  in  a  drama  called  "Love1  s  Ordeal,"  by 
Edmund  Falconer :  this  was  given  in  Boston.  Booth? s 
comedy  7uas  not  equal  to  his  tragedy,  but  he  liked  to  play 
comedy  parts,  and  he  often  said  that  a  tragic  actor  ought 
sometimes  to  act  in  comedy,  for  the  sake  of  relief  and  for  the 
maintenance  of  a  flexible  manner.  He  7vas  very  fond  of 
"Richelieu,"  and  in  my  time  he  has  never  had  an  equal  in 
that  part.  The  intellectual  exaltation,  the  august  loneliness, 
the  inherent  majesty,  the  deep  tenderness,  the  subtle,  lambent 
humour,  the  indomitable  character,  and  the  fiery  and  con- 
suming passion  of  the  old  churchman  were  interblended 
by  him  in  a  figure  of  perfect  symmetry  and  of  overwhelming 
authoritative  force.  That  impersonation  alone  would 
have  made  him  eminent  and  famous.  To  think  of  him  in 
only  the  respective  leading  characters  that  dominate  the  five 
plays  in  this  volume — Richelieu,  Bertuccio,  Brutus,  Ruy 
Bias,  and  Don  CcBsar — is  to  perceive  the  image  of  an 
actor  of  great  elemental pozver  and  of  astonishing  versatility  ; 
and  such  an  actor,  indeed,  was  Edwin  Booth. 

W.   W. 
May  ryth,  j8qq. 


VOL.    Ill 


CONTENTS 

Richelieu 

The  Fool's  Revenge 

Brutus 

Ruy   Bias 
Don  Caesar  de  Bazan 


vol.  in 


RICHELIEU 


VOL.    Ill 


preface. 


* 


"T"" "HE  full  title  of  this  piece  is  "Richelieu;  or,  The 
■*■  Conspiracy"  It  was  written  in  the  fall  of  1838,  and 
it  was  first  acted  on  March  yth,  iSjp.  Macready — for 
whom,  and  under  whose  counsel  it  had  been  made — 
brought  it  out,  at  Covent  Garden,  London,  of  which  theatre 
he  was  then  the  manager,  and  himself  personated  Richelieu. 
In  Macreadf  s  "Reminiscences  "  there  are  several  interesting 
allusions  to  this  subject,  notable  as  showing  in  what  maimer 
the  drift  of  the  play  was  changed  by  the  author,  under  the 
actor's  advice,  and  also  as  showing  that  the  text  was  freely 
cut,  in  the  process  of  adapting  it  to  the  practical  uses  of  the 
stage.  "  When  I  developed  the  whole  plan  of  alterations," 
says  Macready,  the  author  "  was  in  ecstacy."  This, 
evidently,  was  an  instance  in  which  the  literary  faculty 
was  happily  guided  by  an  experienced  and  just  dramatic 
instinct.  In  this  drama,  consequently,  the  story  is  told  by 
direct  action,  out  of  which  the  language  naturally  flows, — 
tinged,  it  is  true,  with  the  romantic  sentimentalism  that 
thoroughly  saturated  Rulwer's  thought  and  style, — and  to 
which,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  a  spontaneous  necessity.  It 
appears  to  have  beeti  Macready' s  impression  that  Bulwer 
had  drawn,  tinder  the  name  of  Richelieu,  a  character  entirely 
different  from    the   historic  original/  but    he    records   that 


Bulwer  at  length  satisfied  him  as  to  the  justice  of  the 
portrayal,  from  the  evidence  of  history.  There  is  no  doubt, 
however,  that  the  poet  has  considerably  —  though  neither 
unjustly  nor  inartistically — idealized  the  character  of  Riche- 
lieu. His  own  remarks  upon  it,  in  his  essays  upon  "Self- 
Controul"  and  "Posthumous  Reputation,"  in  " Caxtoniana," 
illustrate  this  truth.  "In  Richelieu"  he  says,  "  there  was 
no  genuine  selfcontroul;  because  he  had  made  his  whole 
self  the  puppet  of  certain  fixed  and  tyrannical  ideas."  Yet  the 
Richelieu  of  this  play  is  iron  in  his  domination  of  self  and  of 
circumstafice.  In  the  play,  moreover,  the  cruelty  of  the 
Cardinal  nowhere  appears,  while  his  craft  and  vanity  are 
much  softened.  He  is  made,  i?i  fact,  the  ideal  hero  of  a 
poetical  work,  and  he  should  be  regarded  solely  in  this  light. 
TJie  text  of  the  original  has  been  exit  and  arranged  in  accord- 
ance with  this  idea,  and  with  the  pla?i  of  action  pursued  by 
Edwin  Booth.  This  version  differs  from  those  used  by 
Macready  and  Rorrest,  and  it  also  differs  from  all  others  in 
print  or  in  use.  The  purpose  which  has  governed  in  the 
editorial  work  was  the  purpose  to  give  all  possible  prominence 
to  the  poetical  aspect  of  the  character.  As  to  particular 
modifications :  the  long  monologue  that  begins  Act  Third  has 
been  shortened  to  a  few  carefully  chosen  lines ;  several 
minor  scenes  and  several  clusters  of  superfluous  lines  have 
been  omitted ;  and  the  characters  of  the  Governor  and 
Gaoler  of  the  Bastile  have  been  excised.  The  year  of  the 
play  is  indicated  by  the  reference,  in  Act  Fifth,  to  the  loss, 
by  Charles  I,  of u  a  battle  that  decides  one-half  his  realm." 
The  earliest  of  the  Parliamentary  victories  that  could  with 
propriety  be  so  designated  was  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor, 
fought  on  July  2d,  1644.  Bulwer,  it  must  be  assumed, 
intended  to  take  a  poetic  license  with  history,  since,  while  no 


other  battle  than  that  is  responsive  to  his  allusion,  both 
Richelieu  and  Louis  XIII.  were  dead  before  that  battle 
was  fought,  before  any  important  battle  had  signalized 
the  strife  betwixt  Charles  I.  and  the  Puritans,  and  before 
Cromwell  had  become  known.  Louis  XIII.,  of  France, 
reigned  from  1610  to  164J.  Richelieu  died  in  1642,  aged 
57.  Cromwell,  even  at  Marston  Moor,  was  but  second  in 
command.  Richelieu,  it  is  probable,  never  heard  of  him. 
This  drama  was  first  acted  in  America,  September  4th,  1839, 
at  Wallaces  National  Theatre,  in  Leonard  Street,  New- 
York.  Edwin  Forrest  was  then  the  representative  of  the 
Cardinal. 

"  Vivet  extento  Proculeius  aevo, 
Notus  infraies  animiflaterni." 

IV.  w. 
New-  York,  March  pth,  1878. 


* 


"  The  purest  treasure  mortal  times  afford 
Is  spotless  reputation  :  that  away, 
Men  are  but  gilded  loam  or  painted  clay. 
A  jewel  in  a  ten-times  barred-up  chest 
Is  a  bold  spirit  in  a  loyal  breast. 
Mine  honour  is  my  life  ;  both  grow  in  one  : 
Take  honour  from  me  and  my  life  is  done." — SHAKESPEARE. 


"  To  him  the  church,  the  realm,  their  power  consign; 
Through  him  the  rays  of  regal  bounty  shine  ; 
Turned  by  his  nod,  the  stream  of  honour  flows  : 
His  smile  alone  security  bestows  : 
Still  to  new  heights  his  restless  wishes  tower: 
Claim  leads  to  claim,  and  power  advances  power." 

Dr.  Johnson. 


' '  The  brave  man  canes  out  his  fortune,  and  every  man  is  the  son  of  his 
cnvn  works." — Cervantes. 


"A  fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way. 
Fretted  the  pigmy  body  to  decay. 
And  d '  er-informed  the  tenement  of  clay." — Dryden. 


'Conceal  not  Time's  misdeeds,  but  on  my  brow 

Retrace  his  mark  ; 
Let  the  retiring  hair  be  silvery  now. 

That  once  was  dark  : 
Eyes  that  reflected  images  too  bright, 

Let  clouds  o'ercast, 
And  from  the  tablet  be  abolished  quite, 

The  cheerful  past."— Landor. 


"Old  as  I  am,  I  know  what  passion  is. 
It  is  the  summer  s  heat,  sir,  which  in  vain 
We  look  for  frost  in." — Sheridan  Knowi.es. 


'Cardinal  Richelieu  s  politics  made  France  the  terror  of  Europe.  " 

Addison. 


"He  who  ascends  to  mountain-tops  shall  find 
The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapped  in  clouds  and  snow  ; 
He  who  surpasses  or  subdues  mankind 
Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  tlwse  below. 
Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glozv, 
And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread. 
Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head, 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led." 

Lord  Byron. 


Louis  XIII. ,  King  of  France. 
Gaston,  Duke  of  Orleans,  brother  to  the  King. 
Cardinal  Richelieu. 
Baradas,  the  King's  favourite. 

Adrian  de  Mauprat,  an  officer  in  the  French  Army. 
DE  BERINGHEN,  a  courtier. 
Joseph,  a  Capuchin,  confidant  to  Richelieu. 
HuGUET,  an  officer  and  a  spy  in  Richelieu's  service. 
Franqois,    a   Page   to   Richelieu. 
First  Courtier. 
First  Conspirator. 
Captain  of  the  Guard. 

First,  Second,  and  Third  Secretaries  of  State. 
Julie  de  Mortemar,  an  orphan,  ward  to  Richelieu. 
Marion   de    LORME,  a  spy  for  Richelieu. 
Courtiers,  Pages,  Conspirators,  Officers,  Soldiers, 
Gentlemen,  and  Attendants. 

$Iacc  anti  €imc» 

SCENE. — Paris  and  Ruelle  [Reuil],  in  France. 
Period.  —Middle  of  the  Seventeenth  Century. 
Time  of  Action.— Four  days. 

Scenes   Required. — First  Act,   two ;    Second  Act,   two ; 
Third  Act,  one  ;  Fourth  Act,  one ;  Fifth  Act,  one.     The 
principal  scene  set  for  Act  First  is  used  again  in  Act 
Second. 


RICHELIEU 


§s>ctnt  first,  < 


%tt  fixgt. 

FIRST    DAY. 

C  Paris.  A  Room  in  the  House  of 
Marion  De  Lorme.  Baradas  and 
Orleans  at  table  r.  Marion  De 
Lorme  conversing  with  a  Court- 
ier c.  De  Beringhen,  De  Mau- 
prat,  and  Courtiers  playing  at 
dice  l.     Courtiers  looking  on. 


I 


Here  's  to  our  enterprize  ! 
Hush,  sir! 


Or/.  [Drinking. 

Bar.  [Glancing  at  Marion. 

Or/.  [Aside. 


Nay,  count. 

You  may  trust  her ;  she  doats  on  me ;  no  house 

So  safe  as  Marion's. 

Bar. 

Still,  we  have  a  secret; 

And  oil  and  water — woman  and  a  secret  — 

Are  hostile  properties. 

Or  I. 

Well  —  Marion,  see 

How  the  play  prospers  yonder. 


[Marion  goes  to  the  tab/e  L. 


IO  RICHELIEU. 

Bar.       {Producing  a  parchment. 

I  have  now 

All  the  conditions  drawn ;  it  only  needs 

Our  signatures. 

Bouillon  will  join  his  army  with  the  Spaniard, 

March  on  to  Paris :  there,  dethrone  the  king ; 

You  will  be  regent;  I,  and  ye,  my  lords 

Form  the  new  council.     So  much  for  the  core 

Of  our  great  scheme. 

Or/. 

But  Richelieu  is  an  Argus; 

One  of  his  hundred  eyes  will  light  upon  us, 

And  then — good-by  to  life. 

Bar. 
To  gain  the  prize 

We  must  destroy  the  Argus:  —  ay,  my  lord, 
The  scroll  the  core,  but  blood  must  fill  the  veins 
Of  our  design  :  while  this  dispatched  to  Bouillon, 
Richelieu  dispatched  to  Heaven !     The  last  my  charge. 
Meet  here  to-morrow  night.      You,  sir,  as  first 
In  honour  and  in  hope,  meanwhile  select 
Some  trusty  knave  to  bear  the  scroll  to  Bouillon  : 
'Midst  Richelieu's  foes,  /  7/  find  some  desperate  hand 
To  strike  for  vengeance,  while  we  stride  to  power. 

Or/. 

So  be  it :  —  to-morrow,  midnight. —  Come,  my  lords. 

[Exeunt  Or/cans,  and  the  courtiers  in  his  train. 
Those  at  the  other  tab/e  rise,  sa/ute  Orleans,  as 
he  passes  out,  and  reseat  themse/ves.  Baradas 
goes  to  tab/e  L,  and  watches  the  game. 

Be  Ber. 

Double  the  stakes. 

De  Maup. 
Done. 


RICHELIEU,  II 

De  Ber. 

Bravo ;  faith,  it  shames  me 

To  bleed  a  purse  already  in  extremis. 

De  Ma  up. 

Nay,  as  you  've  had  the  patient  to  yourself 
So  long,  no  other  doctor  should  dispatch  it. 

[De  Mauprat  throws  and  loses. 

0  nines. 
Lost !     Ha,  ha  —  poor  De  Mauprat ! 

De  Ber. 
One  throw  more  ? 

De  Ma  up. 
No ;  I  am  bankrupt : 

There  goes  all  except  [Pushing  gold. 

My  honour  and  my  sword. 

De  Ber. 

Ay,  take  the  sword 

To  Cardinal  Richelieu  :  —  he  gives  gold  for  steel, 

When  worn  by  brave  men. 

De  Muup. 

[Rises  and  goes  to  table  r. 
Richelieu ! 

De  Ber.  [  To  Baradas. 

At  that  name 

He  changes  colour,  bites  his  nether  lip. 
Ev'n  in  his  brightest  moments  whisper  "  Richelieu," 
And  you  cloud  all  his  sunshine. 

Bar. 
I  have  marked  it, 
And  I  will  learn  the  wherefore. 

De  Maup. 
The  Egyptian 

Dissolved  her  richest  jewel  in  a  draught  :l 
Would  I  could  so  melt  time  and  all  its  treasures, 
And  drain  it  thus.  [Drinking. 


12  RICHELIEU. 

De  Ber. 

Come,  gentlemen,  what  say  ye  j 
A  walk  on  the  Parade  ? 

Omnes. 
Ay,  come,  De  Mauprat. 

De  Maup. 
Pardon  me ;  we  shall  meet  again,  ere  night-fall. 

Bar. 
I  '11  stay  and  comfort  Mauprat. 

De  Ber. 

Comfort !  —  When 

We  gallant  fellows  have  run  out  a  friend, 

There  's  nothing  left  —  except  to  run  him  through  ! 

There  's  the  last  act  of  friendship. 

De  Maup. 

Let  me  keep 

That  favour  in  reserve ;  in  all  beside 

Your  most  obedient  servant. 

[Exeunt  all  but  De  Mauprat  and  Baradas. 

[N.  B. —  The  scene  is  sometimes  changed,  at  this 
'  point,  to  facilitate  the  setting  of  the  room  in 
Richelieu's  palace.  \ 

Bar. 

You  have  lost  — 
Yet  are  not  sad. 

De  Maup. 

Sad !  — Life  and  gold  have  wings, 

And  must  fly  one  day ;  —  open  then,  their  cages, 

And  wish  them  merry. 

Bar. 

You  're  a  strange  enigma ; 

Fiery  in  war  and  yet  to  glory  lukewarm ; 

All  mirth  in  action ;  in  repose  all  gloom. 


RICHELIEU.  I J 

Fortune  of  late  has  severed  us  —  and  led 

Me  to  the  rank  of  courtier,  count,  and  favourite, 

You  to  the  titles  of  the  wildest  gallant 

And  bravest  knight  in  France :  are  you  content  ? 

No;  —  trust  in  me — some  gloomy  secret 

De  Ma  up. 

Ay;- 

A  secret  that  doth  haunt  me,  as  of  old, 

Men  were  possessed  of  fiends:  where'er  I  turn, 

The  grave  yawns  dark  before  me. —  I  will  trust  you  : 

Hating  the  Cardinal,  and  beguiled  by  Orleans, 

You  know  I  joined  the  Languedoc  revolt  — 

Was  captured — sent  to  the  Bastile 

Bar. 

But  shared 

The  general  pardon,  which  the  Duke  of  Orleans 

Won  for  himself,  and  all  in  the  revolt 

Who  but  obeyed  his  orders. 

De  Maup. 

Note  the  phrase : 

"  Obeyed  his  orders."     Well,  when  on  my  way 
To  join  the  duke  in  Languedoc,  I  (then 
The  down  upon  my  lip — less  man  than  boy), 
Leading  young  valours,  reckless  as  myself, 
Seized  on  the  town  of  Faviaux,  and  displaced 
The  royal  banners  for  the  rebel.     Orleans, 
Never  too  daring,  when  I  reached  the  camp, 
Blamed  me  for  acting  —  mark  —  without  his  orders. 
Upon  this  quibble,  Richelieu  razed  my  name 
Out  of  the  general  pardon. 


Bar. 


Yet  released  you 
From  the  Bastile  ■ 


14  RICHELIEU. 

De  Maup. 

To  call  me  to  his  presence 

And  thus  address  me  :  —  "  You  have  seized  a  town 
Of  France,  without  the  orders  of  your  leader ; 
And  for  this  treason,  but  one  sentence  —  Death." 

Bar. 

Death ! 

De  Maup. 

"  I  have  pity  on  your  youth  and  birth, 

Nor  wish  to  glut  the  headsman  :  join  your  troop, 

Now  on  the  march  against  the  Spaniards  ;  change 

The  traitor's  scaffold  for  the  soldier's  grave : 

Your  memory  stainless — they  who  shared  your  crime 

Exiled  or  dead  —  your  king  shall  never  learn  it." 

Bar. 

0  tender  pity  —  O  most  charming  prospect ! 
Blown  into  atoms  by  a  bomb,  or  drilled 
Into  a  cullender  by  gunshot !  —  Well  ? 

De  Maup. 

You  have  heard  if  I  fought  bravely.     Death  became 

Desired,  as  Daphne  by  the  eager  Daygod.2 

Like  him  I  chased  the  nymph — to  grasp  the  laurel! 

1  could  not  die ! 

Bar. 

Poor  fellow ! 

De  Maup. 

When  the  Cardinal 

Reviewed  the  troops,  his  eyes  met  mine ;  he  frowned, 

Summoned  me  forth:  "How  's  this?"    quoth  he:  "you 

have  shunned 
The  sword — beware  the  axe!  't  will  fall  one  day!" 
He  left  me  thus;  we  were  recalled  to  Paris, 
And — you  know  all ! 


RICHELIEU.  15 

Bar. 

And,  knowing  this,  why  halt  you, 
Spelled  by  the  rattlesnake,  while  in  the  breasts 
Of  your  firm  friends  beat  hearts  that  vow  the  death 
Of  your  grim  tyrant  ? — wake  :  be  one  of  us ; 
The  time  invites :  the  king  detests  the  Cardinal, 
Dares  not  disgrace,  but  groans  to  be  delivered 
Of  that  too  great  a  subject:  join  your  friends, 
Free  France,  and  save  yourself. 

De  Maup. 

Hush !     Richelieu  bears 

A  charmed  life :  to  all  who  have  braved  his  power 

One  common  end  —  the  block ! 

Bar. 

Nay,  if  he  live, 

The  block  your  doom. 

De  Maup. 

Better  the  victim,  count, 

Than  the  assassin :  France  requires  a  Richelieu, 

But  does  not  need  a  Mauprat.     Truce  to  this  : 

All  time  one  midnight,  where  my  thoughts  are  spectres  : 

What  to  me  fame  ? — what  love  ? — 

Bar. 
Yet  dost  thou  not  love? 

De  Maup. 
Love  ? — I  am  young 

Bar. 

And  Julie  fair !     [Aside.]     It  is  so. 

Upon  the  margin  of  the  grave,  his  hand 

Would  pluck  the  rose  that  /would  win  and  wear !    ?  *,     , 

Thou  lovest lAhwL 

De  Maup.  [Gaily. 

No  more ! 

I  love  :  Your  breast  holds  both  my  secrets :  never 
Unbury  either  !  —  Come,  while  yet  we  may, 


l6  RICHELIEU. 

We  '11  bask  us  in  the  noon  of  rosy  life ; 
Lounge  through  the  gardens,  flaunt  in  the  taverns, 
Laugh,  game,  drink,  feast :  if  so  confined  my  days, 
Faith,  I  '11  enclose  the  nights.     Pshaw,  not  so  grave ; 
I  'm  a  true  Frenchman  !  —  Vive  la  bagatelle  ! 

[Enter  Huguet  and  guards  L. 

Hug. 

Messire  De  Mauprat, — I  arrest  you! — Follow 
To  the  lord  Cardinal. 

De  Maup. 

You  see,  my  friend, 

I  'm  out  of  my  suspense ;  the  tiger  's  played 
Long  enough  with  his  prey.     Farewell !     Hereafter 
Say,  when  men  name  me,  "  Adrian  De  Mauprat 
Lived  without  hope,  and  perished  without  fear ! " 

[Exeunt  De  Mauprat,  Huguet,  and  guards,  L. 

Bar. 

Farewell!     I  trust  forever!     I  designed  thee 

For  Richelieu's  murderer — but  as  well  his  martyr! 

In  childhood  you  the  stronger,  and  I  cursed  you; 

In  youth  the  fairer,  and  I  cursed  you  still; 

And  now  my  rival:  while  the  name  of  Julie 

Hung  on  thy  lips,  I  smiled  —  for  then  I  saw, 

In  my  mind's  eye,  the  cold  and  grinning  Death, 

Hang  o'er  thy  head  the  pall !     Ambition,  love, 

Ye  twin-born  stars  of  daring  destinies, 

Sit  in  my  house  of  life !     By  the  king's  aid 

I  will  be  Julie's  husband,  in  despite 

Of  my  lord  Cardinal.     By  the  king's  aid 

I  will  be  minister  of  France,  in  spite 

Of  my  lord  Cardinal;  and  then;  what  then? 

The  king  loves  Julie  ;  feeble  prince  !  false  master  ! 

Then,  by  the  aid  of  Bouillon,  and  the  Spaniard, 

I  will  dethrone  the  king;  and  all — ha  !  —  ha  ! 

All,  in  despite  of  my  lord  Cardinal. 

[Scene  changes. 


RICHELIEU.  17 

.    (  Paris.     A  Room    in    the    Palace    of 
Scene  &econ*.  {      cardinal  Richelieu. 

[E titer  Richelieu  and  Joseph. 

Rich. 

And  so  you  think  this  new  conspiracy 

The  craftiest  trap  yet  laid  for  the  old  fox  ? 

Fox !  well,  I  like  the  nickname :  what  did  Plutarch 

Say  of  the  Greek  Lysander  ? 

Jos. 
I  forget. 

Rich. 

That  where  the  lion's  skin  fell  short,  he  eked  it 
Out  with  the  fox's !     A  great  statesman,  Joseph, 
That  same  Lysander. 

Jos. 

Orleans  heads  the  traitors. 

Rich. 
A  very  wooden  head,  then  !     Well  ? 

Jos. 
The  favourite, 
Count  Baradas — 

Rich. 
A  weed  of  hasty  growth. 

First  gentleman  of  the  chamber, — titles,  lands, 
And  the  king's  ear.     It  cost  me  six  long  winters 
To  mount  as  high  as  in  six  little  moons 4 
This  painted  lizard:  but  I  hold  the  ladder, 
And  when  I  shake  he  falls  :  what  more  ? 

Jos. 
A  scheme 

To  make  your  orphan-ward  an  instrument 
To  aid  your  foes. 
Your  ward  has  charmed  the  king. 


l8  RICHELIEU. 

Rich. 

Out  on  you ! 

Have  I  not,  one  by  one,  from  such  fair  shoots, 

Plucked  the  insidious  ivy  of  his  love  ? 

And  shall  it  creep  around  my  blossoming  tree, 

Where  innocent  thoughts,  like  happy  birds,  make  music 

That  spirits  in  heaven  might  hear  ? 

The  king  is  weak :  whoever  the  king  loves 

Must  rule  the  king ;  the  lady  loves  another ; 

The  other  rules  the  lady :  thus  we  're  balked 

Of  our  own  proper  sway.     The  king  must  have 

No  goddess  but  the  state :  —  the  state !  that 's  Richelieu  ! s 

Jos. 

This  is  not  the  worst :  Louis,  in  all  decorous, 
And  deeming  you  her  least  compliant  guardian, 
Would  veil  his  suit  by  marriage  with  his  minion, 
Your  prosperous  foe,  Count  Baradas ! 

Rich. 

Ha!  ha! 

I  have  another  bride  for  Baradas ! 

Jos. 
You,  my  lord  ? 

Rich. 

Ay — more  faithful  than  the  love 
Of  fickle  woman;  when  the  head  lies  lowest, 
Clasping  him  fondest :  sorrow  never  knew 
So  sure  a  soother;  and  her  bed  is  stainless ! 

[Enter  Francois  c. 

Fran. 
Mademoiselle  De  Mortemar ! 

Rich. 

Most  opportune  :  admit  her.  [Exit  Francois  c. 

In  my  closet 

You  '11  find  a  rosary,  Joseph ;  ere  you  tell 


RICHELIEU.  19 

Three  hundred  beads,  I'll  summon  you.     Stay,  Joseph; 

I  did  omit  an  Ave  in  my  matins, — 

A  grievous  fault ;  atone  it  for  me,  Joseph ; 

There  is  a  scourge  within ;  I  am  weak,  you  strong ; 

It  were  but  charity  to  take  my  sin 

On  such  broad  shoulders. 

Jos. 

I !  guilty  of  such  criminal  presumption 

As  to  mistake  myself  for  you!     No,  never! 

Think  it  not !     [Aside.]     Troth,  a  pleasant  invitation  ! 

[Exit  Joseph  l.     Enter  Jalie  De  Mortemar  c. 

Rich. 
That's  my  sweet  Julie! 

Julie. 

Are  you  gracious  ?  [Placing  herself  at  his  feet. 

May  I  say  "  Father  ?  " 

Rich. 

Now  and  ever ! 

Julie. 

Father ! 

A  sweet  word  to  an  orphan. 

Rich. 

No,  not  orphan 

While  Richelieu  lives :  thy  father  loved  me  well ; 

My  friend,  ere  I  had  flatterers :  now  I  'm  great, 

In  other  phrase,  I  'm  friendless  :  he  died  young 

In  years,  not  service,  and  bequeathed  thee  to  me ; 

And  thou  shalt  have  a  dowry,  girl,  to  buy 

Thy  mate  amid  the  mightiest.     Drooping? — sighs?  — 

Art  thou  not  happy  at  the  court  ? 

Julie. 
Not  often. 


20  RICHELIEU. 

Rich.  [Aside. 

Can  she  love  Baradas  ?     Ah  !  at  thy  heart  [  To  Julie. 

There 's  what  can  smile  and  sigh,  blush  and  grow  pale, 
All  in  a  breath.      Thou  art  admired  —  art  young. 
Does  not  his  majesty  commend  thy  beauty; 
Ask  thee  to  sing  to  him  ? 


He 's  very  tiresome, 
Our  worthy  king. 


Julie. 


Rich. 


Fie !     Kings  are  never  tiresome 
Save  to  their  ministers.     What  courtly  gallants 
Charm  ladies  most  ?     De  Sourdiac,  Longueville,  or 
The  favourite,  Baradas  ? 


A  smileless  man  —  I 
Fear  and  shun  him. 


Yet  he  courts  thee  ! 


Julie. 


Rich. 


Jul  is. 


Then— 

He  is  more  tiresome  than  his  majesty. 

Rich. 

Right,  girl;   shun  Baradas.     Yet  of  these  flowers 
Of  France,  not  one,  in  whose  more  honeyed  breath 
Thy  heart  hears  summer  whisper  ? 

[E?iter  Huguet  c. 

Hug. 
The  Chevalier  De  Mauprat  waits  below. 

Julie.         [Starting  ///>,  in  alarm. 
De  Mauprat! 


RICHELIEU.  21 

Rich. 

Hem ! 

He  has  been  tiresome  too  !     Anon. 

[Exit  Huguet  c. 
Julie. 
What  doth  he  ? 

I  mean  —  I  —  does  your  eminence — that  is  — 
Know  you  Messire  de  Mauprat  ? 

Rich. 

Well!  —  and  you  — 

Has  he  addressed  you  often  ? 

Julie. 
Often!     No  — 

Nine  times  :  nay,  ten ;  the  last  time  by  the  lattice 
Of  the  great  staircase.  [In  a  melancholy  tone. 

The  court  sees  him  rarely. 

Rich. 

A  bold  and  forward  roister! 

Julie. 
He?  nay,  modest, 
Gentle  and  sad,  methinks. 

Rich. 
Wears  gold  and  azure  ? 

Julie. 
No,  sable. 

Rich. 

So,  you  note  his  colours,  Julie  ? 

Shame  on  you,  child,  look  loftier.     By  the  mass, 

I  have  business  with  this  modest  gentleman. 

Julie. 
You  're  angry  with  poor  Julie  :  there 's  no  cause. 

Rich. 

No  cause !  you  hate  my  foes  ? 


22  RICHELIEU. 

Julie. 
I  do. 

Rich. 
Hate  Mauprat. 

Julie. 

Not  Mauprat :  no,  not  Adrian,  father. 

Rich. 
Adrian  ?  \  Julie  moves  toward  c. 

Familiar!     Go,  child  ;  no, —  not  that  way;  wait 
In  the  tapestry  chamber:  I  will  join  you, —  go. 

Julie.  [  Going  r. 

His  brows  are  knit;  I  dare  not  call  him  father. 
But  I  must  speak.     Your  eminence — 

Rich.  \  Sternly. 

Well,  girl ! 

Julie. 
Nay, 

Smile  on  me — one  smile;  there,  now  I  'm  happy. 
Do  not  rank  Mauprat  with  your  foes ;  he  is  not ; 
I  know  he  is  not ;  he  loves  France  too  well. 

Rich. 

Not  rank  De  Mauprat  with  my  foes  ? 

So  be  it. 

I  '11  blot  him  from  that  list. 

Julie. 

That's  my  own  father. 

[Exit  Julie  R.  i.  e. 

Rich.  [Ringing  bell  on  tabic. 

Huguet ! 

[Eider  Huguet  c. 
De  Mauprat  struggled  not,  nor  murmured  ? 

Hug. 
No  :  proud  and  passive. 


RICHELIEU.  23 

Rich. 

.Bid  him  enter.     Hold : 

Look  that  he  hide  no  weapon.     Humph  ;  despair 
Makes  victims  sometimes  victors.     When  he  has  entered, 
Glide  round  unseen  ;  place  thyself  yonder  ;  watch  him ; 
If  he  show  violence  —  (let  me  see  thy  carbine  : 

[  Takes,  examines,  and  returns  Huguefs  carbine 
So ;  a  good  weapon) ;  if  he  play  the  lion, 
Why  —  the  dog's  death. 

Hug. 
I  never  miss  my  mark. 

\Exit  Huguet  c.  Richelieu  slowly  arranges  papers 
before  him.  Ruler  De  Maup)-at  C, preceded  by 
RTtiguet,  who  re/ires  r.  and  conceals  himself. 

Rich. 

Approach,  sir.     Can  you  call  to  mind  the  hour, 
Now  three  years  since,  when  in  this  room,  methinks, 
Your  presence  honoured  me  ? 

De  Ma  up. 
It  is,  my  lord, 

One  of  my  most 

Rich.  [Dryly. 

Delightful  recollections.6 

De  Maup.  [Aside. 

St.  Denis !  doth  he  make  a  jest  of  axe  and  headsman  ? 

Rich.  [Sternly. 

I  did  then  accord  you 
A  mercy  ill  requited. 
Messire  de  Mauprat, 

Doomed  to  sure  death,  how  have  you  since  consumed 
The  time  allotted  you  for  serious  thought 
And  solemn  penance  ? 

De  Maup.  [Embarrassed. 

The  time,  my  lord  ? 


24  RICHELIEU. 

Rich. 

Is  not  the  question  plain  ?      I  '11  answer  for  thee. 

Thou  hast  sought  nor  priest   nor   shrine ;    no  sackcloth 

chafed 
Thy  delicate  flesh  :  the  rosary  and  the  death's  head 
Have  not,  with  pious  meditation,  purged 
Earth  from  the  carnal  gaze.     What  thou  hast  not  done 
Brief  told  ;   what  done,  a  volume  !     Wild  debauch, 
Turbulent  riot :  for  the  morn  the  dice-box ; 
Noon  claimed  the  duel,  and  the  night  the  wassail : 
These  your  most  holy,  pure  preparatives 
For  death  and  judgment.      Do  I  wrong  you,  sir? 

De  Maup. 

I  was  not  always  thus  :  if  changed  my  nature, 

Blame  that  which  changed  my  fate.     Alas,  my  lord, 

Were  you  accursed  with  that  which  you  inflicted  — 

By  bed  and  board  dogged  by  one  ghastly  spectre, 

The  while  within  you  youth  beat  high,  and  life 

Grew  lovelier  from  the  neighbouring  frown  of  death  — 

The  heart  no  bud,  nor  fruit,  save  in  those  seeds 

Most  worthless,  which  spring  up,  bloom,  bear,  and  wither 

In  the  same  hour — were  this  your  fate,  perchance, 

You  would  have  erred,  like  me  ! 

Rich. 

I  might,  like  you, 

Have  been  a  brawler  and  a  reveller ;    not, 

Like  you,  a  trickster  and  a  thief. 

De  Maup.    [Advancing,  threateningly. 
Lord  Cardinal, 
Unsay  those  words ! 

[Huguet  emerges  and  raises  his  carbine. 

Rich.  [Raises  his  hand. 

Not  quite  so  quick,  friend  Huguet; 

Messire  de  Mauprat  is  a  patient  man, 

And  he  can  wait. 

You  have  outrun  your  fortune  :  [To  De  Mauprat. 


RICHELIEU.  25 

I  blame  you  not  that  you  would  be  a  beggar  — 
Each  to  his  taste ;   but  I  do  charge  you,  sir, 
That,  being  beggared,  you  would  coin  false  moneys 
Out  of  that  crucible,  called  debt :  to  live 
On  means  not  yours ;   be  brave  in  silks  and  laces, 
Gallant  in  steeds,  splendid  in  banquets;-— all 
Not  yours  ;    ungiven,  uninherited,  unpaid  for : 
This  is  to  be  a  trickster;   and  to  filch 
Men's  art  and  labour,  which  to  them  is  wealth, 
Life,  daily  bread,  — quitting  all  scores  with — "  Friend, 
You  're  troublesome !  "     Why  this,  forgive  me, 
Is  what — when  done  with  a  less  dainty  grace — 
Plain  folks  call   "  Theft!"     You  owe  ten  thousand  pis- 
toles, 
Minus  one  crown,  two  liards! 

De  Maup.  {Aside. 

The  old  conjurer ! 

Rich. 
This  is  scandalous, 

Shaming  your  birth  and  blood.     I  tell  you,  sir, 
That  you  must  pay  your  debts. 

De  Maup. 
With  all  my  heart, 
My  lord  :  where  shall  I  borrow,  then,  the  money  ? 

Rich.  [Aside,  and  smiling. 

A  humourous  dare-devil :    the  very  man 

To  suit  my  purpose  ;    ready,  frank,  and  bold. 

[  lb  De  Mauprat,  and  rising. 
Adrian  de  Mauprat,  men  have  called  me  cruel ; 
I  am  not;  I  am  just.     I  found  France  rent  asunder; 
The  rich  men  despots  and  the  poor  banditti; 
Sloth  in  the  mart  and  schism  within  the  temple ; 
Brawls  festering  to  rebellion ;  and  weak  laws 
Rotting  away  with  rust  in  antique  sheaths. 
I  have  re-created  France ;   and  from  the  ashes 
Of  the  old  feudal  and  decrepit  carcass, 
Civilization  on  her  luminous  wings 


~°  RICHELIEU. 

Soars,  phoenix-like,  to  Jove !     What  was  my  art  ? 

Genius,  some  say ;    some,  fortune ;    witchcraft,  some : 

Not  so  ;  my  art  was  justice  !     Force  and  fraud 

Mis-name  it  cruelty  :    you  shall  confute  them  ! 

My  champion  you  !     You  met  me  as  your  foe. 

Depart  my  friend.      You   shall   not   die:    France   needs 

you. 
You  shall  wipe  off  all  stains  ;    be  rich,  be  honoured  ; 
Be  great :    I  ask,  sir,  in  return,  this  hand, 

[De  Mauprat  kneels. 
To  gift  it  with  a  bride,  whose  dower  shall  match, 
Yet  not  exceed  her  beauty. 

De  Manp.  {Hesitating. 

I,  my  lord  — 
I  have  no  wish  to  marry. 

Rich. 
Surely,  sir, 
To  die  were  worse. 

De  Manp.  [Rises. 

Scarcely  ;  the  poorest  coward 

Must  die;    but  knowingly  to  march  to  marriage  — 

My  lord,  it  asks  the  courage  of  a  lion  ! 

Rich. 

Traitor,  thou  triflest  with  me.     I  know  all. 
Thou  hast  dared  to  love  my  ward  —  my  charge. 

De  Manp. 

As  rivers 

May  love  the  sunlight  —  basking  in  the  beams, 

And  hurrying  on. 

Rich. 
Thou  hast  told  her  of  thy  love  ? 


RICHELIEU.  27 

De  Maup. 

My  lord,  if  I  had  dared  to  love  a  maid, 

Lowliest  in  France,  I  would  not  so  have  wronged  her, 

As  bid  her  link  rich  life  and  virgin  hope 

With  one,  the  deathman's  gripe  might,  from  her  side, 

Pluck  at  the  nuptial  altar. 

Rich. 
I  believe  thee  : 

Yet,  since  she  knows  not  of  thy  love,  renounce  her ; 
Take  life  and  fortune  with  another. —  Silent  ? 

De  Maup. 

Your  fate  has  been  one  triumph :    you  know  not 
How  blessed  a  thing  it  was  in  my  dark  hour 
To  nurse  the  one  sweet  thought  you  bid  me  banish. 
Love  hath  no  need  of  words  ;    nor  less  within 
That  holiest  temple,  the  heaven-builded  soul, 
Breathes  the  recorded  vow.     Base  knight,  false  lover 
Were  he  who  bartered  all  that  brightened  grief 
Or  sanctified  despair,  for  life  and  gold. 
Revoke  your  mercy ;  I  prefer  the  fate 
I  looked  for. 

Rich.  [  To  Huguet,  sternly. 

Huguet,  to  the  tapestry  chamber 
Conduct  your  prisoner. 

[  To  De  Mauprat. 

You  will  there  behold 

The  executioner:  —  your  doom  be  private  — 

[Crosses  to  R. 
And  heaven  have  mercy  on  you ! 

De  Maup. 
When  I  'm  dead, 
Tell  her  I  loved  her— 

Rich .  [  Hiding  his  face. 

Keep  such  follies,  sir, 
For  fitter  ears.     Go. 


28  RICHELIEU. 

De  Maup. 

Does  he  mock  me  ? 

[Exeunt  De  Mauprat  and  Huguet  r.  i.e. 

[Richelieu  laughs. 

Rich. 

Joseph, 
Come  forth. 

[Enter  Joseph  L.  i.  E. 
Methinks  your  cheek  has  lost  its  rubies,  Joseph. 
I  fear  you  have  been  too  lavish  of  the  flesh ; 
The  scourge  is  heavy. 

Jos. 
Pray  you,  change  the  subject. 

Rich. 

You  good  men  are  so  modest !     Well,  to  business. 
Go  instantly  —  deeds  —  notaries! — bid  my  stewards 
Prepare  my  house  by  the  Luzembourg — my  house 
No  more !  —  a  bridal  present  to  my  ward, 
Who  weds  to-morrow. 


Weds  ?  with  whom  ? 
De  Mauprat. 

A  penniless  husband. 


Jos. 

Rich. 
Jos. 

Rich. 


Bah  !   the  mate  for  beauty 
Should  be  a  man  and  not  a  money-chest ! 
When  her  brave  sire  lay  on  his  bed  of  death, 
I  vowed  to  be  a  father  to  his  Julie; 
And  so  he  died — the  smile  upon  his  lips : 
And  when  I  spared  the  life  of  her  young  lover, 
Methought  I  saw  that  smile  again.     Who  else, 
Look  you,  in  all  the  court,  who  else  so  well, 


RICHELIEU. 


29 


Brave,  or  supplant  the  favourite ;  balk  the  king, 

Baffle  their  schemes  ?     I  have  tried  him  :   he  has  honour 

and  courage. 
Besides,  he  has  taste,  this  Mauprat :  when  my  pla) 
Was  acted  —  to  dull  tiers  of  lifeless  gapers, 
Who  had  no  soul  for  poetry  —  I  saw  him 
Applaud,  in  the  proper  places :  trust  me,  Joseph, 
He  is  a  man  of  most  uncommon  promise  1 

Jos. 
And  yet  your  foe. 

Rich, 

Have  I  not  foes  enow  ? 

Great  men  gain  doubly  when  they  make  foes  friends. 

Remember  my  grand  maxims  :  hrst  employ 

All  methods  to  conciliate.8 

Jos. 
Failing  these  ? 

Rich.  [Fiercely. 

AW.  means  to  crush  !  as  with  the  opening  and 
The  clenching  of  this  little  hand  I  will 
Crush  the  small  venom  of  these  stinging  courtiers.  — 
So,  so,  we  've  baffled  Baradas. 

Jos. 
And  when 
Check  the  conspiracy  ? 

Rich. 

Check  ?  check  ?     Full  way  to  it. 

Let  it  bud,  ripen,  flaunt  i'  the  day,  and  burst 

To  fruit — the  Dead  Sea's  fruit  of  ashes;  ashes 

Which  I  will  scatter  to  the  winds. 

Go,  Joseph ; 

When  you  return  I  have  a  feast  for  you; 

The  last  great  act  of  my  great  play  :  the  verses, 

Methinks,  are  fine. 

Come,  you  shall  hear  the  verses  now.       [  Seating  himselfi 


3° 


RICHELIEU. 

Jos. 


Worse  than  the  scourge ! 
Strange  that  so  great  a  statesman 
Should  be  so  bad  a  poet. 

Rich. 

What  dost  thou  say  ? 

Jos. 

That  it  is  strange  so  great  a  statesman  should 
Be  so  sublime  a  poet.9 

Rich. 
O  you  rogue,  you  rogue! 
But  come,  the  verses  now. 

Jos. 
My  lord, 
The  deeds,  the  notaries. 


[Aside, 


Rich. 

True,  I  pity  you  ! 

But  business  first,  then  pleasure. 


Rich. 


[Exit  Joseph  c. 
[Reading. 


Ah,  sublime! 


[Enter  De  Mauprat  a  fid  Julie  R.  i.e. 

De  Maup. 

O,  speal;,  my  lord !     I  dare  not  think  you  mock  me. 

And  yet [They  kneel  before  him. 

Rich. 

This  line  must  be  considered. 

Julie. 

Are  we  not  both  your  children  ? 


Rich. 


O,  sir — you  live! 


[Affecting  now  to  see  them  for  the  first  time. 


RICHELIEU.  31 

De  Maup. 
Why,  no ;   methinks 
Elysium  is  not  life. 

Julie. 
He  smiles !  you  smile, 
My  father :  from  my  heart  forever,  now, 
I  '11  blot  the  name  of  orphan. 

Rich. 
Rise,  my  children  — 

For  ye  are  mine,  mine  both ;  and  in  your  sweet 
And  young  delight,  your  love  (life's  first-born  glory) 
My  own  lost  youth  breathes  musical. 

De  Maup. 
I  '11  seek 

Temple  and  priest  henceforward :  were  it  but 
To  learn  Heaven's  choicest  blessings. 

Rich. 

Thou  shalt  seek 

Temple  and  priest  right  soon :  the  morrow's  sun 
Shall  see  across  these  barren  thresholds  pass 
The  fairest  bride  in  Paris.     Go,  my  children : 
Even  J  loved  once: 10  be  lovers  while  ye  may. 

[  To  De  Mauprat. 
How  is  it  with  you,  sir?     You  bear  it  bravely: 
You  know  it  asks  the  courage  of  a  lion. 

{Exeunt  De  Mauprat and Julie  i\ 
O,  God-like  power!  woe,  rapture,  penury,  wealth, 
Marriage,  and  death,  for  cne  infirm  old  man 
Through  a  great  empire  to  dispense — withhold  — 
As  the  will  whispers!     And  shall  things,  like  motes 
That  live  in  my  daylight;  lackeys  of  court  wages; 
Dwarfed  starvelings;  manikins,  upon  whose  shoulders 
The  burden  of  a  province  were  a  load, 
More  heavy  than  the  globe  on  Atlas,  cast 
Lots  for  my  robes  and  sceptre  ?  —  France,  I  love  thee ! 
All  earth  shall  never  pluck  thee  from  my  heart ! 
My  mistress,  France  ;  my  wedded  wife,  sweet  France ; 
Who  shall  proclaim  divorce  for  thee  and  me  1 

CURTAIN. 


3ltt  £ccont!. 

second  day. 

,.        (  Paris.     An  Apartment  in  De  Mauh 
Scene    Jin*,  J     RAT,S  HouSE> 

[Enter  Baradas  L. 

Mauprat's  new  home:  too  splendid  for  a  soldier! 

But  o'er  his  floors,  the  while  I  stalk,  methinks 

My  shadow  spreads  gigantic  to  the  gloom 

The  old,  rude  towers  of  the  Bastile  cast  far 

Along  the  smoothness  of  the  jocund  day. 

Well,  thou  hast  'scaped  the  fierce  caprice  of  Richelieu  i 

But  art  thou  further  from  the  headsman,  fool  ? 

Thy  secret  I  have  whispered  to  the  king: 

Thy  marriage  makes  the  king  thy  foe :  thou  stand'st 

On  the  abyss — and  in  the  pool  below 

I  see  a  ghastly,  headless  phantom  mirrored, — 

Thy  likeness,  ere  the  marriage  moon  hath  waned. 

Meanwhile — meanwhile — ha,  ha!  if  thou  art  wedded, 

Thou  art  not  wived! 

[Enter  De  Mauprat  k 

De  Ma  up. 

Was  ever  fate  like  mine  ?  — 

So  blessed,  and  yet  so  wretched ! 

Bar. 
Joy,  De  Mauprat! 
Why,  what  a  brow,  man,  for  your  wedding-day ! 

De  Mai/p. 
Jest  not.     Distraction! 


RICHELIEU.  33 

Bar. 
What!  your  wife  a  shrew 
Already?     Courage,  man — the  common  lot. 

De  Maup. 
O,   that  she  were  less  lovely,  or  less  loved  1 

Bar. 

Riddles  again! 

De  Maup. 

You  know  what  chanced  between 
The  Cardinal  and  myself. 

Bar. 
This  morning  brought 

Your  letter:  faith,  a  strange  account.     I  laughed 
And  wept  at  once  for  gladness. 

De  Maup. 
We  were  wed 
At  noon  :  the  rite  performed,  came  hither — scarce 

Arrived,  when 

Bar. 

Well? 

De  Maup. 

Wide  flew  the  doors,  and  lo ! 

Messire  de  Beringhen,  and  this  epistle. 

Bar. 
Tis  the  king's  hand;  the  royal  seal. 

De  Maup. 

Read  —  read ! 

Bar.  [Reading. 

"Whereas  Adrian  de  Mauprat,  colonel  and  chevalier 
in  our  armies,  being  already  guilty  of  high  treason,  by  the 
seizure  of  our  town  of  Faviaux,  has  presumed,  without  our 
knowledge,  consent,  or  sanction,   to  connect  himself  by 

3 


-_^  RICHELIEU. 

marriage  with  Julie  de  Mortemar,  a  wealthy  orphan, 
attached  to  the  person  of  Her  Majesty;  we  do  hereby 
proclaim  and  declare  the  said  marriage  contrary  to  law. 
On  penalty  of  death,  Adrian  de  Mauprat  will  not  com- 
municate with  the  said  Julie  de  Mortemar  by  word  or 
letter,  save  in  the  presence  of  our  faithful  servant,  the 
Sieur  de  Beringhen,  and  then  with  such  respect  and 
decorum  as  are  due  to  a  demoiselle  attached  to  the  Court 
of  France :  until  such  time  as  it  may  suit  our  royal  pleas- 
ure to  confer  Avith  the  Holy  Church  on  the  formal  annul- 
ment of  the  marriage,  and  with  our  Council  on  the  punish- 
ment to  be  awarded  to  Messire  de  Mauprat,  who  is 
cautioned,  for  his  own  sake,  to  preserve  silence  as  to  our 
injunction,  more  especially  to  Mademoiselle  de  Mortemar. 
Given  under  our  hand  and  seal,  at  the  Louvre. 

"  Louis." 
[Gives  back  letter  to  De  Mauprat. 

Amazement!     Did  not  Richelieu  say  the  king 

Knew  not  your  crime? 

De  Ma  up. 
He  said  so. 

Bar. 

Poor  de  Mauprat! 

See  you  the  snare,  the  vengeance  worse  than  death 

Of  which  you  are  the  victim? 

De  Maup. 
Ha! 

Snare?  vengeance, 
Worse  than  death  ?     Be  plainer. 

Bar. 

What  so  clear? 

Richelieu  has  but  two  passions. 

De  Maup. 

Richelieu ! 


RICHELIEU.  35 

Bar. 

Yes. 

Ambition  and  revenge :  in  you  both  blended. 

First  for  ambition:  Julie  is  his  ward; 

Innocent,  docile,  pliant  to  his  will; 

He  placed  her  at  the  court;  foresaw  the  rest: 

The  king  loves  Julie ! 

De  Maup, 

Merciful  Heaven!     The  king! 

Bar. 

Such  Cupids  lend  new  plumes  to  Richelieu's  wings: 

But  the  court  etiquette  must  give  such  Cupids 

The  veil  of  Hymen — Hymen  but  in  name. 

He  looked  abroad;  found  you  his  foe;  thus  served 

Ambition — by  the  grandeur  of  his  ward, 

And  vengeance  —  by  dishonour  to  his  foe. 

De  Maup. 
Prove  this. 

Bar. 

You  have  the  proof — the  royal  letter; 

Your  strange  exemption  from  the  general  pardon, 

Known  but  to  me  and  Richelieu :  can  you  doubt 

Your  friend,  to  acquit  your  foe?     The  truth  is  glaring; 

Richelieu  alone  could  tell  the  princely  lover 

The  tale  which  sells  your  life,  —  or  buys  your  honour. 

De  Maup. 

I  see  it  all:  mock  pardon  —  hurried  nuptials — 
False  bounty!  —  all! — the  serpent  of  that  smile: 
O !  it  stings  home ! 

Bar. 

You  shall  crush  his  malice : 

Our  plans  are  sure;  Orleans  is  at  our  head; 

We  meet  to-night;  join  us  and  with  us  triumph. 


36  RICHELIEU. 

De  Maup. 

To-night!  —  0  heaven! — my  marriage  night!  —  Revenge 
But  the  king?  but  Julie? 

Bar. 

The  king  ?  infirm  in  health,  in  mind  more  feeble, 

Is  but  the  plaything  of  a  minister's  will. 

Were  Richelieu  dead,  his  power  were  mine;  and  Louis 

Soon  should  forget  his  passion  and  your  crime. 

But  whither  now  ? 

De  Maup. 

I  know  not;  I  scarce  hear  thee; 
A  little  while  for  thought:  anon  I  '11  join  thee; 
But  now,  all  air  seems  tainted,  and  I  loathe 
The  face  of  man! 

[Exit  De  Mauprat  L, 

Bar. 

Start  from  the  chase,  my  prey! 

But  as  thou  speed'st,  the  hell-hounds  of  revenge 

Pant  in  thy  track  and  drag  thee  down. 

[Enter  De  Beringhen  r. 

De  Ber. 

Chevalier, 

Your  cook's  a  miracle:  what,  my  host  gone? 
Faith,  count,  my  office  is  a  post  of  danger: 
A  fiery  fellow,  Mauprat!  touch  and  go, — 
Match  and  saltpeter,  —  pr-r-r-r! 

Bar. 

You 

Will  be  released  ere  long.     The  king  resolves 

To  call  the  bride  to  court  this  day. 

De  Ber. 

Poor  Mauprat! 

Yet,  since  you  love  the  lady,  why  so  careless 

Of  the  king's  suit? 


RICHELIEU.  37 

Bar. 

Because  the  lady 's  virtuous, 

And  the  king  timid :  ere  he  win  the  suit 

He  '11  lose  the  crown;  the  bride  will  be  a  widow; 

And  1  —  the  Richelieu  of  the  Regent  Orleans. 

De  Ber. 

Is  Louis  still  so  chafed  against  the  fox, 

For  snatching  yon  fair  dainty  from  the  lion  ? 

Bar. 

So  chafed  that  Richelieu  totters.     Yes,  the  king, 
Is  half  conspiring  against  the  Cardinal. 
Enough  of  this.     I  've  found  the  man  we  wanted ; 
The  man  to  head  the  hands  that  murder  Richelieu ; 
The  man  whose  name's  the  synonym  for  daring. 

De  Ber.  [Alarmed. 

He  must  mean  me!     No,  count,  I  am,  I  own, 
A  valiant  dog — but  still  — 

Bar. 
Whom  can  I  mean 

But  Mauprat?     Mark,  to-night  we  meet  at  Marion's; 
There  shall  we  sign:  thence  send  this  scroll 
To  Bouillon.  {Showing  a  paper. 

You  're  in  that  secret  —  one  of  our  new  council. 

De  Ber. 
But  to  admit  the  Spaniard,  France's  foe, 
Into  the  heart  of  France — dethrone  the  king — 
It  looks  like  treason,  and  I  smell  the  headsman. 

Bar. 
O,  sir,  too  late  to  falter :  when  we  meet 
We  must  arrange  the  separate,  coarser  scheme, 
For  Richelieu's  death.     Of  this  dispatch  De  Mauprat 
Must  nothing  learn.     He  only  bites  at  vengeance, 
And  he  would  start  from  treason.     We  must  post  him 
Without  the  door  at  Marion's  —  as  a  sentry; 
So,  when  his  head  is  on  the  block,  his  tongue 
Cannot  betray  our  more  august  designs. 


j8  RICHELIEU. 

De  Ber. 

I  '11  meet  you,  if  the  king  can  spare  me.     [Aside.]     No ! 
I  am  too  old  a  goose  to  play  with  foxes ; 
I  '11  roost  at  home.     Meanwhile,  in  the  next  room 
There's  a  delicious  pate;   let 's  discuss  it. 

Bar. 

Pshaw  !  a  man  filled  with  sublime  ambition 
Has  no  time  to  discuss  your  pates. 

De  Ber. 
Pshaw. 

And  a  man  filled  with  a  sublime  pate, 
Has  no  time  to  discuss  ambition. —  Gad, 
I  have  the  best  of  it ! 

[Exit De  Berbighen  r. 

Bar. 
All  is  made  clear;   Mauprat  must  murder  Richelieu — 
Die  for  that  crime :     I  shall  console  his  Julie. 
This  will  reach  Bouillon  !  —  from  the  wrecks  of  France 
I  shall  carve  out  —  who  knows  —  perchance  a  throne! 
All  in  despite  of  my  lord  Cardinal. 

[Enter  De  Mauprat  L- 

De  Maup. 

Speak !  can  it  be  ?  —  Methought  that  from  the  terrace 
I  saw  the  carriage  of  the  king  —  and  Julie  ! 
No !     No  !  my  frenzy  peoples  the  void  air 
With  its  own  phantom  ! 

Bar. 
Nay,  too  true. —  Alas! 

Was  ever  lightning  swifter,  or  more  blasting, 
Than  Richelieu's  forked  guile  ? 

De  Maup. 

I  '11  to  the  Louvre 

Bar. 

And  lose  all  hope !     The  Louvre !  —  the  sure  gate 
To  the  Bastile! 


RICHELIEU.  39 

De  Maup. 
The  king. 

Bar. 

Is  but  the  wax, 

Which  Richelieu  stamps  :  break  the  malignant  seal, 

And  I  will  raze  the  print.     Come,  man,  take  heart ! 

Her  virtue  well  could  brave  a  sterner  trial 

Than  a  few  hours  of  cold,  imperious  courtship. 

Were  Richelieu  dust  —  no  danger! 

De  Maup. 
Ghastly  vengeance ! 

To  thee  and  thine  august  and  solemn  sister, 
The  unrelenting  death,  I  dedicate 
The  blood  of  Armand  Richelieu  !     When  dishonour 
Reaches  our  hearths,  law  dies. and  murder  takes 
The  angel  shape  of  justice  ! 

Bar. 

Bravely  said ! 

At  midnight,  Marion's!  —  Nay,  I  cannot  leave  thee 

To  thoughts  that 

De  Maup. 

Speak  not  to  me  !  —  1  am  yours  ! 
But  speak  not!     There's  a  voice  within  my  soul, 
Whose  cry  could  drown  the  thunder.     O,  if  men 
Will  play  dark  sorcery  with  the  heart  of  man, 
Let  them,  who  raise  the  spell,  beware  the  fiend ! 

{Exeunt  l.     Scene  changes. 


Paris.  A  Room  in  the  Palace  of  Car- 
dinal Richelieu.  The  same  as  in 
Act  tiRsr.  Francois  discovered 
at  table  l.  u.  e. 

{Enter  Richelieu  and  Joseph. 

Jos. 

Yes  ;  —  Huguet,  taking  his  accustomed  round, 
Disguised  as  some  plain  burgher,  heard  these  rufflers 
Quoting  your  name  ■  —  he  listened:     "  Pshaw,"  said  one, 


4°  RICHELIEU. 

"  We  are  to  seize  the  Cardinal  in  his  palace 

To-morrow  !  "  —  "  How  ?  "    the   other    asked ;  —  "  You  '11 

hear 
The  whole  design  to-night :  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
And  Baradas  have  got  the  map  of  action 
At  their  fingers'  end."     "  So  be  it,"  quoth  the  other, 
"  I  will  be  there, —  Marion  de  Lorme's — at  midnight:  " 

Rich. 
I  have  them,  man,  I  have  them ! 

Jos. 

So  they  say 

Of  you,  my  lord  :  —  believe  me,  that  their  plans 
Are  mightier  than  you  deem  :  you  must  employ 
Means  no  less  vast  to  meet  them ! 

Rich. 

Bah!  in  policy 

We  foil  gigantic  dangers,  not  by  giants, 

But  dwarfs:  the  statues  of  our  stately  fortune 

Are  sculptured  by  the  chisel — not  the  axe.11 

Ah!  were  I  younger — by  the  knightly  heart 

That  beats  beneath  these  priestly  robes,  Vi  I  would 

Have  pastime  with  these  cut-throats  !     Yea,  as  when, 

Lured  to  the  ambush  of  the  expecting  foe, 

I  clove  my  pathway  through  the  plumed  sea ! 

Reach  me  yon  falchion,  Francois — not  that  bauble 

For  carpet  warriors  —  yonder — such  a  blade 

As  old  Charles  Martel  might  have  wielded,  when 

He  drove  the  Saracen  from  France. 

[Francois  brings  to  Richelieu  a  long  two-handed 
sword. 
With  this 

I,  at  Rochelle,  did  hand  to  hand  engage 
The  stalwart  Englisher:  ,3  no  mongrels,  boy, 
Those  island  mastiffs.     Mark  the  notch,  a  deep  one. 
His  casque  made  here.     I  shore  him  to  the  waist ! 


RICHELIEU.  41 

A  toy — a  feather,  then  ! 

[  Tries  to  wield  it,  but  sinks,  overcome,  into  [hair. 
You  see,  a  child  could 
Slay  Richelieu  now. 

Fran. 

But  now,  at  your  command 

Are  other  weapons,  good  my  lord. 

Rich .  [Lifting  a  pen. 

True,  this ! 

Beneath  the  rule  of  men  entirely  great 
The  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.     Behold 
The  arch  enchanter's  wand :  itself  a  nothing ; 
But  taking  sorcery  from  the  master  hand  — 
To  paralyze  the  Caesars,  and  to  strike 
The  loud  earth  breathless  !     Take  away  the  sword  — 
States  can  be  saved  without  it ! 

[Francois  takes  the  sword  back  to  its  place.     Clock 
strikes. 
'  Tis  the  hour — 
Retire,  sir. 

[Exit  Francois  L.  A  knock.  Joseph  opens  secret 
door.  Enter  Marion  de  Lorme,  through  secret 
door. 

Jos.  [Amazed. 

Marion  de  Lorme ! 

Rich. 

Hist!  Joseph, 

Keep  guard.  [Joseph  closes  door  and  retires  c. 

My  faithful  Marion ! 


Marion. 


Good,  my  lord, 

They  meet  to  night  in  my  poor  house :  the  Duke 

Of  Orleans  heads  them. 

Rich. 
Ves ;  go  on. 


42  RICHELIEU. 

Marion. 
His  highness 

Much  questioned  if  I  knew  some  brave,  discreet, 
And  vigilant  man,  whose  tongue  could  keep  a  secret, 
And  who  had  those  twin  qualities  for  service, 
The  love  of  gold,  the  hate  of  Richelieu. 

Rich. 

You 

Marion. 

Made  answer,  "Yes;  my  brother;  bold  and  trusty; 
Whose  faith   my  faith    could   pledge:"    the    duke   then 

bade  me 
Have  him  equipped  and  armed,  well  mounted,  ready 
This  night  to  part  for  Italy. 

Rich. 

Ah!  — 

Has  Bouillon  too  turned  traitor  ?  —  So  methought. 

What  part  of  Italy  ? 

Marion. 

The  Piedmont  frontier, 
Where  Bouillon  lies  encamped. 

Rich.  [Aside. 

Now  there  is  danger! 

Great  danger!     If  he  tamper  with  the  Spaniard, 
And  Louis  list  not  to  my  council,  as, 
Without  sure  proof  he  will  not,  France  is  lost ! 
What  more  ?  [  To  Marion. 

Marion. 

Dark  hints  of  some  design  to  seize 

Your  person,  in  your  palace:  nothing  clear: 

His  highness  trembled  while  he  spoke ;  the  words 

Did  choke  each  other. 

Rich. 

So  !     Who  is  the  brother 

You  recommended  to  the  duke  ? 


RICHELIEU.  43 

Marion. 

Whoever 

Your  eminence  may  father. 

Rich. 

Darling  Marion  !  u 

[Goes  to   the    table,  and  returns   with    a  purse. 
Marion  affects  to  refuse,  but  presently  accepts  the 
purse. 
There — pshaw  —  a  trifle!     What  an  eye  you  have! 
And  what  a  smile!  —  Ah,  you  fair  perdition  — 
T  is  well  I  'm  old  ! 

Marion.  [Aside. 

What  a  great  man  he  is  ! 

Rich. 
You  are  sure  they  meet  ?  —  the  hour  ? 


At  midnight. 


Marion. 
Rich. 


And 

You  will  engage  to  give  the  duke's  dispatch, 

To  whom  I  send  ? 

Marion. 

Ay,  marry ! 

Rich.  [Aside. 

Huguet  ?     No : 

He  will  be  wanted  elsewhere.     Joseph  ?  —  zealous, 
But  too  well  known — too  much  the  elder  brother. 
Mauprat  ?  —  alas  !  it  is  his  wedding  day. 
Francois  ? —  the  man  of  men!  unnoted,  young: 
Ambitious.     [Strikes  bell.]     Francois ! 

[Enter  Francois  l.  i.  e. 


44  RICHELIEU. 

Rich. 

Follow  this  fair  lady. 

Find  him  the  suiting  garments,  Marion  :   take 

My  ileetest  steed  :  arm  thyself  to  the  teeth : 

A  packet  will  be  given  you,  with  orders, 

No  matter  what !     The  instant  that  your  hand 

Closes  upon  it,  clutch  it,  like  your  honour, 

Which  death  alone  can  steal,  or  ravish ;  set 

Spurs  to  your  steed — be  breathless,  till  you  stand 

Again  before  me.     Stay,  sir,  you  will  find  me 

Two  short  leagues  hence,  at  Ruelle,  in  my  castle. 

Young  man,  be  blithe!  for — note  me  —  from  the  hour 

I  grasp  that  packet,  think  your  guardian  star 

Rains  fortune  on  you ! 

Fran. 
If  I  fail 

Rich. 
Fail  — 

In  the  lexicon  of  youth,  which  fate  reserves 
For  a  bright  manhood,  there  is  no  such  word 
As  fail !  —  You  will  instruct  him  further,  Marion. 
Follow  her  —  but  at  distance:    speak  not  to  her, 
Till  you  are   housed:  farewell,   boy!    never  say  " Fail" 
again. 

Fran. 
I  will  not! 

Rich. 

That's  my  young  hero  ! 

[Fxeuni  Francois  and  Marion  R.  u.  E. 
So,  they  would  seize  my  person  in  this  palace  ? 
I  cannot  guess  their  scheme: — but  my  retinue 
Is  here  too  large:  a  single  traitor  could 

[Strikes  bell.     Joseph  enters  c. 
Strike  impotent  the  faith  of  thousands. — Joseph, 
Art  sure  of  Huguet  ?  —  Think;  we  hanged  his  father. 


RICHELIEU.  45 

Jos. 
But  you  have  bought  the  son;  heaped  favours  on  him. 

Rich. 

Trash!  —  favours  past — that's  nothing.     In  his  hours 
Of  confidence  with  you,  has  he  named  the  favours 
To  come  he  counts  on  ? 

Jos. 
Yes  —  a  colonel's  rank, 
And  letters  of  nobility. 

Rich. 
What,  Huguet? 

\Hugnct  enters  c,  but  is  unseen  by  the  Cardinal 
and  Joseph. 

Hug. 
My  own  name :   soft !  [Hides  himself. 

Rich. 
My  bashful  Huguet :   that  can  never  be  ! 
We  have  him  not  the  less :  we  '11  promise  it  — 
And  see  the  king  withholds.     Yes, 
We  '11  count  on  HueTiet. 


'^i 


Hug.  {Aside. 

To  thy  cost,  deceiver. 

{Huguet  retires. 

Rich. 
You  are  right:  this  treason 
Assumes  a  fearful  aspect :  but  once  crushed, 
Its  very  ashes  shall  manure  the  soil 
Of  power,  and  ripen  such  full  sheaves  of  greatness, 
That  all  the  summer  of  my  fate  shall  seem 
Fruitless,  beside  the  autumn ! 

Jos. 
The  saints  grant  it ! 

[Huguet  advances. 


4-6  RICHELIEU. 

Hug. 

My  lord  Cardinal, 

Your  eminence  bade  me  seek  you  at  this  hour. 

Rich. 

Did  I  ?  —  True,  Huguet. —  So,  you  overheard 
Strange  talk  amongst  these  gallants :  snares  and  traps 
For  Richelieu  ?  —  Well,  we  '11  balk  them ;  let  me  think;  — 
The  men  at. arms  you  head — -how  many? 

Hug. 
Twenty,15  my  lord. 

Rich. 
All  trusty  ? 

Hug. 
Yes,  for  ordinary 

Occasions :   if  for  great  ones,  I  would  change 
Three-fourths  at  least. 

Rich. 
Ay,  what  are  great  occasions  ? 

Hug. 

Great  bribes. 

Rich.  {To  Joseph 

Good  lack,  he  knows  some  paragons 
Superior  to  great  bribes ! 

Hug. 

True  gentlemen, 

Who  have  transgressed  the  laws,  and  value  life, 

And  lack  not  gold ;  your  eminence  alone 

Can  grant  them  pardon :  ergo,  you  can  trust  them ! 

Rich. 

Logic.     So  be  it — let  this  honest  twenty 

Be  armed  and  mounted. 

They  do  not  strike  till  morning, 


RICHELIEU.  47 

Yet  I  will  shift  the  quarter :  bid  the  grooms 

Prepare  the  litter — I  will  hence  to  Ruelle 

While  daylight  lasts:   and  one  hour  after  midnight 

You  and  your  twenty  saints  shall  seek  me  thither. 

You  're  made  to  rise!     You  are,  sir;  —  eyes  of  lynx, 

Ears  of  the  stag,  a  footfall  like  the  snow : 

You  are  a  valiant  fellow;   yea,  a  trusty, 

Religious,  exemplary,  incorrupt, 

And  precious  jewel  of  a  fellow,  Huguet ! 

If  I  live  long  enough, —  ay,  mark  my  words  — 

If  I  live  long  enough,  you  '11  be  a  colonel  — 

{Huguet  bows  very  low. 
Noble,  perhaps!  —  One  hour,  sir,  after  midnight. 

Hug. 

You  leave  me  dumb  with  gratitude,  my  lord : 
I  '11  pick  the  trustiest  [aside]  Marion's  house  can  furnish. 

[Exit  Huguet  n 
Rich. 
Good:   all  favours, 

If  Francois  be  but  bold,  and  Huguet  honest. 
Huguet  I  half  suspect;   he  bowed  too  low; 
'T  is  not  his  way. 

Jos. 
This  is  the  curse,  my  lord 
Of  your  high  state;  suspicion  of  all  men. 

Rich.  [Sadly. 

True;  true;  my  leeches  bribed  to  poison,  pages 

To  strangle  me  in  sleep;   my  very  king 

(This  brain  the  unresting  loom,  from  which  was  woven 

The  purple  of  his  greatness)  leagued  against  me: 

Old,  childless,  friendless,  broken,  all  forsake  — 

All  — all  — but— 

Jos. 
What  ? 

Rich. 

The  indomitable  heart 
Of  Armand  Richelieu! 


48  RICHELIEU. 

Jos. 
And  Joseph — — 

Rich.  {After  a  pause. 

You  — 

Yes,  I  believe  you—  yes ;  for  all  men  fear  you, 

And  the  world  loves  you  not :    and  I,  friend  Joseph, 

I  am  the  only  man,  who  could,  my  Joseph, 

Make  you  a  bishop.'6  {Joseph  bows  very  low. 

Come  we  '11  go  to  dinner, 

And  talk  the  while  of  methods  to  advance 

[Joseph  looks  eagerly  into  the  Cardinal's  face,  and 

with   disappointment,  bows  very  low  at  "  our 

mother  church." 

Our  mother  church.17 

Ah,  Joseph  — Bishop  Joseph!  {Exeunt  R.  i.  e. 

CURTAIN. 


SECOND    DAY:     MIDNIGHT. 

JRuelle.  Richelieu's  Castle.  A 
Gothic  Chamber.  Moonlight  shin- 
ing  THROUGH    THE    WINDOW.       BED,  ON 

[_     Dais  c. 

Rich.  [Reading. 

"  In  silence  and  at  night  the  conscience  feels 

That  life  should  soar  to  nobler  ends  than  power." 

So  sayest  thou,  sage  and  sober  moralist !  [In  soliloquy. 

But  wert  thou  tried  ? 

Ye  safe  and  formal  men, 

Who  write  the  deeds,  and  with  unfeverish  hand 

Weigh  in  nice  scales  the  motives  of  the  great, 

Ye  cannot  know  what  ye  have  never  tried. 

Alas,  I  am  not  happy :   blanched  and  seared 

Before  my  time;   breathing  an  air  of  hate, 

And  seeing  daggers  in  the  eyes  of  men; 

Bearding  kings, 

And  braved  by  lackeys  18;  murder  at  my  bed; 

And  lone  amidst  the  mutitudinous  web, 

With  the  dread  three  —  that  are  the  fates  who  hold 

The  woof  and  shears  —  the  monk,  the  spy,  the  headsman: 

And  this  is  power!     Alas  !   I  am  not  happy. 

[After  a  pause,  during  which  he  is  convulsed  with 
pain. 
Ah!  here!  that  spasm,  again!     How  life  and  death 
Do  wrestle  for  me  momently  ! 

[  Turning  again  to  his  book. 
Speak  to  me,  moralist :     I  '11  heed  thy  counsel. 
Were  it  not  best — 

[Enter  Francois  hastily  L. 

4 


5°  RICHELIEU. 

Philosophy,  thou  liest !  [Flinging  away  the  book. 

Quick  —  the  dispatch  !  —  Power !  —  Empire !      Boy — the 
packet ! 

Fran. 

Kill  me,  my  lord ! 

Rich. 

They  knew  thee  —  they  suspected  — 

They  gave  it  not 

Fran. 

Pie  gave  it  —  he — the  Count 

De  Baradas— with  his  own  hand  he  gave  it! 

Rich. 

Baradas !     Joy !  out  with  it ! 

Fran. 

Listen, 

And  then  dismiss  me  to  the  headsman. 

Rich. 
Ha! 
Go  on. 

Fran. 

They  led  me  to  a  chamber :  there 
Orleans  and  Baradas,  and  some  half-score 
Whom  I  knew  not,  were  met 

Rich. 
Not  more ! 

Fran. 
But  from 

The  adjoining  chamber  broke  the  din  of  voices, 
The  clattering  tread  of  armed  men :  at  times 
A  shriller  cry,  that  yelled  out,  "Death  to  Richelieu!" 

Rich. 

Speak  not  of  me;  thy  country  is  in  danger! 


RICHELIEU.  51 

Fran. 
Baradas 

Questioned  me  close  —  demurred — until,  at  last, 
O'er-ruled  by  Orleans,  gave  the  packet — told  me 
That  life  and  death  were  in  the  scroll : 
And  Orleans  promised  thousands, 
When  Bouillon's  trumpets  in  the  streets  of  Paris 
Rang  out  shrill  answer:  hastening  from  the  house, 
My  footstep  in  the  stirrup,  Marion  stole 
Across  the  threshold,  whispering,  "  Lose  no  moment 
Ere  Richelieu  have  the  packet :  tell  him,  too, 
Murder  is  in  the  winds  of  night,  and  Orleans 
Swears,  ere  the  dawn  the  Cardinal  shall  be  clay." 
She  said,  and  trembling  fled  within :  when  lo ! 
A  hand  of  iron  griped  me !     Thro'  the  dark, 
Gleamed  the  dim  shadow  of  an  armed  man : 
Ere  I  could  draw,  the  prize  was  wrested  from  me, 
And  a  hoarse  voice  gasped  —  "Spy,  I  spare  thee,  for 
This  steel  is  virgin  to  thy  lord!" — with  that 
He  vanished.  —  Scared  and  trembling  for  thy  safety, 
I  mounted,  fled,  and  kneeling  at  thy  feet, 
Implore  thee  to  acquit  my  faith ;  but  not, 
Like  him,  to  spare  my  life. 

Rich. 

Who  spake  of  life  ? 

I  bade  thee  grasp  that  packet  as  thine  honour — 

A  jewel  worth  whole  hecatombs  of  lives ! 

Begone!     Redeem  thine  honour!     Back  to  Marion  — 

Or  Baradas  —  or  Orleans:  track  the  robber: 

Regain  the  packet  —  or  crawl  on  to  age  — 

Age  and  gray  hairs  like  mine  —  and  know  thou  hast  lust 

That  which  had  made  thee  great  and  saved  thy  country 

See  me  not  till  thou  hast  bought  the  right  to  see  me. 

Away!     Nay,  cheer  thee!  thou  hast  not  failed  yet 

There  's  no  such  word  as  "  fail ! " 

Fran. 
Bless  you,  my  lord, 

For  that  one  smile !     I  '11  wear  it  on  my  heart 
To  light  me  back  to  triumph.19  '  {Exit  Francois,  l. 


52  RICHELIEU. 

Rich. 

The  poor  youth ! 

An  elder  had  asked  life.     I  love  the  young: 

For  as  great  men  live  not  in  their  own  time 

But  in  the  age  to  come,  so  in  the  young  my  soul 

Makes  many  Richelieus.     He  will  win  it  yet. 

Francois?     He 's  gone.     My  murder;     Marion's  warning ; 

This  bravo's  threat :   O  for  the  morrow's  dawn ! 

I  '11  set  my  spies  to  work  —  I  '11  make  all  space, 

As  does  the  sun,  an  universal  eye. 

Huguet  shall  track — Joseph  confess — ha!  ha! 

Strange,  while  I  laughed  I  shuddered,  and  e'en  now 

Thro'  the  chill  air  the  beating  of  my  heart 

Sounds  like  the  death-watch  by  a  sick  man's  pillow. 

If  Huguet  could  deceive  me!         [Listens.     Noise  outside. 

Hoofs  without — 

The  gates  unclose  —  steps,  near  and  nearer! 

[Enter  Julie  de  Mortemar  l. 

Julie, 

Cardinal !     My  father !  Falls  at  his  feet. 

Rich. 

Julie!   at  this  hour;  and  in  tears. 
What  ails  thee? 

Julie. 
I  am  safe  with  thee! 

Rich. 

Safe !  why  in  all  the  storms  of  this  wild  world 
What  wind  would  mar  the  violet  ? 

Julie. 

That  man  — 

Why  did  I  love  him?  —  clinging  to  a  breast 

That  knows  no  shelter  ? 

Listen  :   late  at  noon — 

The  marriage-day  —  ev'n  then  no  more  a  lover, 

He  left  me  coldly.     Well,  I  sought  my  chamber 

To  weep  and  wonder;  but  to  hope  and  dream: 

Sudden  a  mandate  from  the  king, —  to  attend 

Forthwith  his  pleasure  at  the  Louvre. 


RICHELIEU.  53 

Rich. 
Ha! 

You  did  obey  the  summons;  and  the  king 
Reproached  your  hasty  nuptials. 

Julie. 
Were  that  all ! 

He  frowned  and  chid;  proclaimed  the  bond  unlawful; 
Bade  me  not  quit  my  chamber  in  the  palace  : 
And  there  at  night — alone  —  this  night!  all  still, 
He  sought  my  presence — dared! — thou  read'st  the  heart, 
Read  mine:  I  cannot  speak  it! 

Rich. 

He,  a  king! 

You  —  woman ;  well,  you  yielded ! 

Julie. 
Cardinal ! 

Dare  you  say  "yielded?"     Humbled  and  abashed, 
He  from  the  chamber  crept:  this  mighty  Louis; 
Crept  like  a  baffled  felon  !  —  yielded !     Ah ! 
More  royalty  in  woman's  honest  heart 
Than  dwells  within  the  crowned  majesty 
And  sceptered  anger  of  a  hundred  kings! 
Yielded!     Heavens!  —  yielded! 

Rich. 

To  my  breast, —  close  —  close! 

The  world  would  never  need  a  Richelieu,  if 

Men — bearded,  mailed  men  —  the  lords  of  earth  — 

Resisted  flattery,  falsehood,  avarice,  pride, 

As  this  poor  child,  with  the  dove's  innocent  scorn, 

Her  sex's  tempters,  vanity  and  power! 

He  left  you  —  well! 

Julie. 

Then  came  a  sharper  trial ! 
At  the  king's  suit,  the  Count  de  Baradas 
Sought  me,  to  soothe,  to  fawn,  to  flatter,  while 
On  his  smooth  lip  insult  appeared  more  hateful 


54  RICHELIEU. 

For  the  false  mask  of  pity :  letting  fall 
Dark  hints  of  treachery,  with  a  world  of  sighs 
That  heaven  had  granted  to  so  base  a  lord 
The  heart  whose  coldest  friendship  were  to  him 
What  Mexico  to  misers!     Stung  at  last 
By  my  disdain,  the  dim  and  glimmering  sense 
Of  his  cloaked  words  broke  into  bolder  light ; 
And  then  —  ah!  then,  my  haughty  spirit  failed  me; 
Then  I  was  weak  —  wept  —  O !  such  bitter  tears ! 
For  (turn  thy  face  aside,  and  let  me  whisper 
The  horror  to  thine  ear)  then  I  did  learn 
That  he — that  Adrian  —  that  my  husband  — knew 
The  king's  polluting  suit  and  deemed  it  honour ! 
Then  all  the  terrible  and  loathsome  truth 
Glared  on  me;  coldness,  waywardness,  reserve, 
Mystery  of  looks,  words  —  all  unravelled,  and 
I  saw  the  impostor  where  I  had  loved  the  god. 

Rich. 
I  think  thou  wrongest  thy  husband — but  proceed. 

Julie. 

Did  you  say  "  wronged  "  him  ?     Cardinal,  my  father, 
Did  you  say  "wronged?"     Prove  it!  and  life  shall  glow 
One  prayer  for  thy  reward  and  his  forgiveness. 

Rich. 
Let  me  know  all. 

Julie. 
To  the  despair  he  caused 
The  courtier  left  me ;  but  amid  the  chaos 
Darted  one  guiding  ray  —  to  'scape — to  fly — 
Reach  Adrian,  learn  the  worst:  'twas  then  near  midnight ; 
Trembling,  I  left  my  chamber ;  sought  the  queen ; 
Fell  at  her  feet ;  revealed  the  unholy  peril ; 
Implored  her  aid  to  flee  our  joint  disgrace : 
Moved,  she  embraced  and  soothed  me ;  nay,  preserved. 
Her  words  sufficed  to  unlock  the  palace  gates; 


RICHELIEU.  55 

I  hastened  home — but  home  was  desolate  — 
No  Adrian  there!     Fearing  the  worst,  I  fled 
To  thee,  directed  hither.     As  my  wheels 
Paused  at  thy  gates,  the  clang  of  arms  behind 

The  ring  of  hoofs 

Rich. 

T  was  but  my  guards,  fair  trembler.  [Aside, 

So  Huguet  keeps  his  word,  my  omens  wronged  him. 

Julie. 
O,  in  one  hour  what  years  of  anguish  crowd  ! 

Rich. 

Nay,  there  's  no  danger  now.     Thou  need'st  rest. 
Come,  thou  shalt  lodge  beside  me.     Tush  !  be  cheered  ! 
My  rosiest  Amazon,  thou  wrong'st  thy  Theseus. 
All  will  be  well  yet;  yet  all  well. 

[During  this  speech  the  moonlight  fades  away,  and 

the  scene  is  darkened. 
[Exeunt  l.  u.  e.     Enter  Huguet   l.  i.  e.  and  De 
Mauprat,  in  complete  armour,  his  visor  doicn. 

Hug. 
Not  here! 

De  Maup. 

O,  I  will  find  him;  fear  not:  hence  and  guard 
The  galleries  where  the  menials  sleep;  plant  sentries 
At  every  outlet.     Chance  should  throw  no  shadow 
Between  the  vengeance  and  the  victim!     Go! 
Ere  yon  brief  vapour  that  obscures  the  moon, 
As  doth  our  deed  pale  conscience,  pass  away, 
The  mighty  shall  be  ashes. 

Hug. 
Will  you  not 
A  second  arm  ? 

De  Maup. 

To  slay  one  weak  old  man  ? 

Away!     No  lesser  wrongs  than  mine  can  make 

This  murder  lawful.     Hence! 


56  RICHELIEU. 

Hug. 
A  short  farewell ! 

[Exit  Huguet  l.  i.e.    Enter  Ric/ielieu,  l.  u.  e.  not 
perceiving  E>e  Mauprat. 

Rich. 

How  heavy  is  the  air !  the  vestal  lamp 
Of  the  sad  moon,  weary  with  vigil,  dies 
In  the  still  temple  of  the  solemn  heaven. 
The  very  darkness  lends  itself  to  fear — 
To  treason 

De  Maup. 
And  to  death! 

Rich. 

Ha! 

What  art  thou,  wretch  ? 

De  Maup. 

Thy  doomsman ! 

Rich. 
Ho,  my  guards! 
Huguet !     Montbrassil !    Vermont ! 

De  Maup. 
Ay,  thy  spirits 

Forsake  thee,  wizard;  thy  bold  men  of  mail 
Are  my  confederates.     Stir  not !  but  one  step, 
And  know  the  next  —  thy  grave! 

Rich. 
Thou  liest,  knave! 

I  am  old,  infirm  —  most  feeble — but  thou  liest! 
Armand  de  Richelieu  dies  not  by  the  hand 
Of  man:  the  stars  have  said  it;20  and  the  voice 
Of  my  own  prophet  and  oracular  soul 
Confirms  the  shining  sybils!     Call  them  all — 
Thy  brother  butchers:    earth  hath  no  such  fiend  — 
No !  as  one  parricide  of  his  father-land, 
Who  dares  in  Richelieu  murder  France ! 


RICHELIEU.  57 

De  Maup. 

Thy  stars 

Deceive  thee,  Cardinal:  thy  soul  of  wiles 

May  against  kings  and  armaments  avail, 

And  mock  the  embattled  world;  but  powerless  now 

Against  the  sword  of  one  resolved  man, 

Upon  whose  forehead  thou  hast  written  shame! 

Listen : 

In  his  hot  youth,  a  soldier  urged  to  crime 

Against  the  State,  placed  in  your  hands  his  life; 

You  did  not  strike  the  blow — but  o'er  his  head, 

Upon  the  gossamer  thread  of  your  caprice, 

Hovered  the  axe:   your  death 

Had  set  him  free :    he  purposed  not  nor  prayed  it. 

One   day   you    summoned  —  mocked    him    with   smooth 

pardon, 
Showered  wealth  upon  him,  bade  an  angel's  face 
Turn  earth  to  paradise. 

Rich. 
Well! 

De  Maup. 

Was  this  mercy  ? 

A  Caesar's  generous  vengeance  ?  — Cardinal,  no ! 

Judas,  not  Caesar,  was  the  model!     You 

Saved  him  from  death,  for  shame. 

Expect  no  mercy ! 

Behold  De  Mauprat! 

[Lifts  his  visor, 

Rich. 

To  thy  knees,  and  crawl 

For  pardon  ;  or,  I  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  live 

For  such  remorse,  that,  did  I  hate  thee,  I 

Would  bid  thee  strike,  that  I  might  be  avenged! 

It  was  to  save  my  Julie  from  the  king, 

That  in  thy  valour  I  forgave  thy  crime. 

It  was,  when  thou  —  the  rash  and  ready  tool, 

Yea,  of  that  shame  thou  loath'st,  didst  leave  thy  hearth 


58  RICHELIEU. 

To  the  polluter — in  these  arms  thy  bride 
Found  the  protecting  shelter  thine  withheld. 
Julie  de  Mauprat — Julie! 

\Enter  Julie  l.  u.  e. 

Lo!  my  witness,  sir! 

De  Manp. 

What  marvel's  this?  —  I  dream!     My  Julie  —  thou! 

Julie. 

Henceforth  all  bond 

Between  us  twain  is  broken.     Were  it  not 
For  this  old  man,  I  might,  in  truth,  have  lost 
The  right — now  mine — to  scorn  thee. 

Rich. 
You  hear  her,  sir. 

De  Maup. 

Thou,  with  some  slander,  hast  her  sense  infected! 

Julie. 

No,  sir;  he  did  excuse  thee  in  despite 

Of  all  that  wears  the  face  of  truth.     Thy  friend — 

Thy  confidant  —  familiar — Baradas — 

Himself  revealed  thy  baseness. 

De  Maup. 
Baseness! 

Rich. 

Ay; 

That  thou  didst  court  dishonour. 

De  Maup. 

Baradas ! 

Where  is  thy  thunder,  Heaven?  Duped!  snared!  un- 
done! 

Thou  —  thou  couldst  not  believe  him!  Thou  dost  love 
me1 


RICHELIEU.  59 

Julie. 
Love  him !     Ah ! 

Be  still,  my  heart!     Love  you  I  did:   how  fondly, 
Woman — if  women  were  my  listeners  now  — 
Alone  could  tell!     Forever  fled  my  dream: 
Farewell  —  all 's  over ! 

Rich. 
Nay,  my  daughter,  these 
Are  but  the  blinding  mists  of  day-break  love 
Sprung  from  its  very  heat,  and  heralding 
A  noon  of  happy  summer.     Take  her  hand 
And  speak  the  truth  with  which  your  heart  runs  over  — 
That  this  Count  Judas,  this  incarnate  falsehood, 
Never  lied  more  than  when  he  told  thy  Julie 
That  Adrian  loved  her  not — except,  indeed, 
When  he  told  Adrian  Julie  could  betray  him. 

Julie.    {Embracing  De  Mauprat. 
You  love  me,  then!  you  love  me!  and  they  wronged  you! 

De  Maup. 
Ah,  couldst  thou  doubt? 

Rich. 

Why,  man,  the  very  mole 

Less  blind  than  thou !     Baradas  loves  thy  wife : 

Had  hoped  her  hand ;  hopes  even  now 

To  make  thy  corse  his  footstool  to  thy  bed. 

Where  was  thy  wit,  man?     Ho!  these  schemes  are  glass! 

The  very  sun  shines  through  them. 

De  Maup. 
O,  my  lord,  [Kneels. 

Can  you  forgive  me  ? 

Rich. 
Ay,  and  save  you! 

De  Maup. 
Save! — 

Terrible  word!  O,  save  thyself!  these  halls 
Swarm  with  thy  foes:  already  for  thy  blood 
Pants  thirsty  murder! 


60  RICHELIEU. 

Julie. 

Murder! 

Rich. 
Hush !  put  by 

The  woman.     Hush!  a  shriek  —  aery  —  a  breath 
Too  loud  would  startle  from  its  horrent  pause 
The  swooping  death !     Go  to  the  door  and  listen ! 
Now  for  escape! 

[Julie  goes  to  door  l, 
De  Maup. 

None — none!     Their  blades  shall  pass 
This  heart  to  thine. 

Rich.  {Dryly. 

An  honourable  outwork, 
But  much  too  near  the  citadel.     I  think 
That  I  can  trust  you  now. 

[S/o7v/y,  and  gazing  on  him  intently. 
Yes :   I  will  trust  you. 
How  many  of  my  troop  league  with  you? 


All'  — 

We  are  your  troop ! 

And  Huguet  ? 
Is  our  captain. 


De  Maup. 

Rich. 

De  Maup. 

Rich. 


Retributive  Power! 

This  comes  of  spies. 

All?     The  lion's  skin  too  short  to-night; 

Now  for  the  fox's. 

Julie. 

A  hoarse  gathering  murmur! 
Hurrying  and  heavy  footsteps! 

Rich. 
Ha!  the  poster m! 


RICHELIEU  6l 

De  Maitp, 
No  egress  where  no  sentry ! 

Rich. 

I  have  it!  to  my  chamber — quick!     Come,  Julie! 
Hush!   Mauprat  come! 

Voices  Outside. 
Death  to  the  Cardinal ! 

Rich. 
We  will 
Baffle  them  yet. 

\ Exeunt  De  Mauprat,  Julie,  aud  Richelieu  c. 

Hug.  [Speaking  outside. 

This  way  —  this  way! 

[Enter,  in  eager  haste,  Huguct  and  the  Conspira- 
tors L.  De  Mauprat,  appearing,  throws  back 
curtains  c.  disclosing  Richelieu  upon  his  bed,  and 
apparently  dead. 

De  Maup. 
Live  the  king ! 
Richelieu  is  dead! 

Omnes. 
Dead ! 

De  Maup. 

I  watched  him  till  he  slept. 
Heed  me.     No  trace  of  blood  reveals  the  deed: 
Strangled  in  sleep :    his  health  had  long  been  broken:    l 
Found  breathless  in  his  bed.     So  runs  our  tale; 
Remember!     Back  to  Paris:  Orleans  gives 
Ten  thousand  crowns,  and  Baradas  a  lordship, 
To  him  who  first  gluts  vengeance  with  the  news 
That  Richelieu  is  in  heaven!     Quick,  that  all  France 
May  share  your  joy! 


I  shall  be  noble! 


Hug. 


62  RICHELIEU. 

De  Manp. 
Away. 

Omnes. 
To  horse !    to  horse ! 

{Exeunt  Conspirators  L.  As  they  throng  out 
Julie  enters,  and  De  Mauprat goes  to  Richelieu., 
who  leaps  up  and  exclaims  : 

Rich. 
Bloodhounds,  I  laugh  at  you! 

QUICK    CURTAIN. 


&% 

w 


3tct  fourth 

third  day. 

(  Paris.     The  Gardens  of  the  Louvre. 
5?ccne  JFtrst.  <      Orleans,    Baradas,    De    Beringhen, 
(      Courtiers,  etc.,  discovered. 

Or/. 
How  does  my  brother  bear  the  Cardinal's  death  ? 

Bar. 

With  grief  when  thinking  on  the  toils  of  State; 
With  joy  when  thinking  on  the  eyes  of  Julie. 
At  times  he  sighs,  "  Who  now  shall  govern  France  ?  " 
Anon  exclaims,  "  Who  now  shall  baffle  Louis  ?  " 

\Enter  Louis  XIII.  and  Courtiers  r.  u.  e. 

Or/. 
Now,  my  liege,  now  I  can  embrace  a  brother. 

Louis. 

Dear  Gaston,  yes.     I  do  believe  you  love  me : 

Richelieu  denied  it  —  severed  us  too  long. 

A  great  man,  Gaston  !     Who  shall  govern  France  ? 

Bar. 
Yourself,  my  liege.     That  swart  and  potent  star 
Eclipsed  your  royal  orb.     He  served  the  country ; 
But  did  he  serve,  or  seek  to  sway,  the  king  ? 

Louis. 

You  're  right — he  was  an  able  politician,21 

That's  all. 

He  was  most  disloyal  in  that  marriage. 

[Queru/ous/y.\     He  knew  that  Julie  pleased  me  :  —  a  clear 

proof 
He  never  loved  me! 


64  RICHELIEU. 

Bar. 

O,  most  clear  !     But  now 

No  bar  between  the  lady  and  your  will. 

This  writ  makes  all  secure :  a  week  or  two 

[Shows  a  paper. 
In  the  Bastile  will  sober  Mauprat's  love, 
And  leave  him  eager  to  dissolve  a  Hymen 
That  brings  him  such  a  home. 

Louis. 

See  to  it,  count. 

[Exit  Bar  a  das  R.  i.  E. 
I  '11  summon  Julie  back.     A  word  with  you.    [To  Orleaiis. 
[King  Louis  takes  aside  Orleans,  and  passes,  con- 
versing, through  the  gardens,  followed  by  court- 
iers L.  u.  E.     Enter  Francois. 

Fran. 

All  search,  as  yet,  in  vain  for  Mauprat :  not 

At  home  since  yesternoon :  a  soldier  told  me 

He  saw  him  pass  this  way  with  hasty  strides: 

Should  he  meet  Baradas  they  'd  rend  it  from  him  : 

Benignant  fortune  smile  upon  me: 

I  am  thy  son :  if  thou  desert'st  me  now, 

Come  death  and  snatch  me  from  disgrace. 

[Enter  De  Mauprat  c. 

Be  Maup. 

O,  let  me — 

Let  me  but  meet  him  foot  to  foot — I'll  dig 
The  Judas  from  his  heart ;  albeit  the  king 
Should  o'er  him  cast  the  purple ! 


Fran. 


Mauprat !  hold  : 
Where  is  the 


De  Maup. 
Well !     What  wouldst  thou  ? 


RICHELIEU.  65 

Fran. 

The  dispatch! 

The  packet.     Look  on  me  —  I  serve  the  Cardinal  — 
You  know  me.     Did  you  not  keep  guard  last  night 
By  Marion's  house  ? 

De  Ma  up. 

I  did: — no  matter  now! 
They  told  me  he  was  here ! 

Fran. 
Ojoy!  quick — quick  — 
The  packet  thou  didst   wrest  from  me  ? 

De  Maup. 
The  packet  ? 

What — art  thou  he  I  deemed  the  Cardinal's  spy, 
(Dupe  that  I  was)  and  overhearing  Marion  — 

Fran, 

The  same  —  restore  it!  haste! 

De  Maup. 
I  have  it  not : 
Methought  it  but  revealed  our  scheme  to  Richelieu. 

\Entrr  Baradas  r.  i.  e. 
Stand  back! 

Now,  villain!  now  I  have  thee! 

Hence,  sir!  [To  Frangois. 

Draw!  To  Baradas. 

Fran. 

Art  mad?  the  king's  at  hand!  leave  him  to  Richelieu. 
Speak;  the  dispatch;  to  whom 


De  Maup. 

[Dashing     Frangois     aside    and    rushing    upon 
Baradas. 
Thou  triple  slanderer! 
I'll  set  my  heel  upon  thy  cresi .! 

[Mauprat  and  Baradas  fight. 


66  RICHELIEU. 

Fran. 
Fly— fly!     The  king! 

[Enter  Louis,  Orleans,  De  Beringhen,  courtiers  and 
guards  L.  u.  E. 

Louis. 

Swords  drawn  before  our  very  palace ! 
Have  our  laws  died  with  Richelieu  ? 

Bar. 
Pardon,  sire, — 

My    crime   but    self-defence.'2     [Aside  to   Louis.]     It   is 
De  Mauprat! 

Louis.         [Sits  on  garden  seat  l. 
Dare  he  thus  brave  us  ? 

[Baradas  goes  to  the  guard  and  gives  writ  to  the 
Captain. 

De  Maup.  [  To  Louis. 

Sire,  in  the  Cardinal's  name 

Bar.  [To  Captain. 

Seize  him!  disarm!  to  the  Bastile! 

[De  Mauprat  is  arrested.  The  Cardinal's  march 
is  heard.  Then  enter  Richelieu  and  Joseph, 
followed  by  the  Cardinal's  guard  c. 

All. 
The  Cardinal! 

De  Maup.  [  To  Richelieu. 

Priest  and  hero  —  for  you  are  both  — 

Protect  the  truth.  [De  Mauprat  kneels. 

Rich. 
What  is  this  ?  [  Takes  writ. 

Bar.  [In  consternation. 

The  dead  returned  to  life ! 


RICHELIEU.  67 

Louis. 

What !    A  mock  death  !  this  tops 
The  infinite  of  insult. 

De  Ber.  [Aside. 

Fact  in  philosophy  :  foxes  have  got 
Nine  lives,  as  well  as  cats ! 

Bar. 
Be  firm,  my  liege. 

Louis. 

I  have  assumed  the  sceptre;  I  will  wield  it! 

Jos.  \Aside. 

The  tide  runs  counter;  there  '11  be  shipwreck  somewhere. 
[Baradas  and  Orleans  keep   close   to  the  king — 
whispering  and  prompting  him,  while  Richelieu 
speaks. 

Rich. 

High  treason!    Faviaux!  still  that  stale  pretence. 
My  liege,  bad  men  (ay,  count,  most  knavish  men !) 
Abuse  your  royal  goodness.     For  this  soldier, 
France  hath  none  braver :  and  his  youth's  hot  folly, 
Misled  —  by  whom  your  highness  may  conjecture!  — 

[To  Orleans. 
Is  long  since  cancelled  by  a  loyal  manhood. 
I,  sire,  have  pardoned  him. 

Louis. 
And  we  do  give 
Your  pardon  to  the  winds.    Sir,  do  your  duty !    [  To  officer. 

Rich. 

What,  sire?     You  do  not  know — O,  pardon  me  — 
You  know  not  yet,  that  this  brave,  honest  heart, 
Stood  between  mine  and  murder !     Sire  !  for  my  sake — 
For  your  old  servant's  sake  —  undo  this  wrong. 
See,  let  me  rend  the  sentence. 

[  Offers  as  if  he  would  tear  the  writ. 


CS  RICHELIEU. 

Louis. 
At  your  peril ! 

This  is  too  much.  —  Again,  sir,  do  your  duty  !     [  To  officer. 

[De  Mauprat  advances. 

Rich. 

Speak  not,  but  go :     I  would  not  see  young  valour 
So  humbled  as  grey  service. 

De  Maup. 
Fare  you  well ! 
Save  Julie,  and  console  her. 

[De  Mauprat  goes  up  with  guard.  Richelieu  goes 
r.  to  Joseph.  The  courtiers  surround  Louis, 
who  sits  L. 

Fran.         [Aside  to  De  Mauprat. 
The  dispatch ! 
Your  fate,  foes,  life,  hang  on  a  word !  to  whom  ? 

De  Maup. 
To  Huguet. 

[Exeunt  Mauprat  and  guard  L.  u.  E. 

Bar.  [Aside  to  Fra?icois. 

Has  he  the  packet  ? 

Fran.  [Aside  to  Baradas. 

He  will  not  reveal  — 

[Aside.]     Work,  brain  !    beat,  heart !     "  There  's  no  such 
word  as  fail." 

[Exit  Francois  R.  u.  E. 
Rich.  [Fiercely. 

Room,  my  lords,  room  !     The  minister  of  France 
Can  need  no  intercession  with  the  king. 

[  Courtiers  fall  hack.      The  king  rises. 

Louis. 
What  means  this  false  report  of  death,  lord  Cardinal  ? 

Rich. 
Are  you  then  angered,  sire,  that  I  still  live  ? 


RICHELIEU.  69 

Louis. 

No  ;  but  such  artifice  — 

Rich. 

Not  mine  :  look  elsewhere. 

L,ouis  —  my  castle  swarmed  with  the  assassins. 

Bar.  [Advancing  L. 

We  have  punished  them  already.     Huguet  now 
In  the  Bastile.     O  !  my  lord,  we  were  prompt 
To  avenge  you  —  we  were 

Rich. 

We  ?    Ha  !  ha  !  you  hear, 

My  liege  !     What  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  grammar 
Made  you  a  plural  ?23     Count,  you  have  seized  the  hire- 
ling :  — 
Sire,  shall  I  name  the  master  ? 

Louis. 

[Haughtily,  to  the  Cardinal. 

Enough ! 

Your  eminence  must  excuse  a  longer  audience. 
To  your  own  palace  :  for  our  conference,  this 
Nor  place,  nor  season. 

Rich. 

Good  my  liege,  for  Justice, 

All  place  a  temple,  and  all  season,  summer! 

Do  you  deny  me  justice  ?     Saints  of  heaven  ! 

He  turns  from  me  !     Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 

My  liege,  my  Louis, 

Do  you  refuse  me  justice  —  audience  even  — 

In  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  Murder  ? 2l     [All  start. 

Louis. 

Lord  Cardinal,  one  by  one  you  have  severed  from  me 
The  bonds  of  human  love;   all  near  and  dear 
Marked  out  for  vengeance,  exile,  or  the  scaffold. 
You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 
My  closest  kindred  ;  you  would  tear  them  from  me ; 


7°  RICHELIEU.  ' 

They  murder  you  forsooth,  since  me  they  love. 
Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign  ! 
Home  !  home !  my  lord,  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms ! 

[Louis  and  courtiers  cross  R. 

Rich. 
Sire 

I — patience,  heaven!  sweet  heaven!    Sire,  from  the  foot 
Of  that  great  throne,  these  hands  have  raised  aloft 
On  an  Olympus,  looking  down  on  mortals 
And  worshipped  by  their  awe  —  before  the  foot 
Of  that  high  throne,  spurn  you  the  grey-haired  man, 
Who  gave  you  empire,  and  now  sues  for  safety  ? 

Louis. 

No  :  —  when  we  see  your  eminence  in  truth 
At  the  foot  of  the  throne,  we  '11  listen  to  you. 

[Exit  Louis  followed  by  all  the  Courtiers  R. 

Orl.  [As  he  goes  out. 

Saved ! 

Bar.  [As  he  goes  out. 

For  this,  deep  thanks  to  Julie  and  to  Mauprat ! 

Jos. 
If  you  had  been  less  haughty 

Rich. 
No  time  for  ifs  and  buts! 
I  will  accuse  these  traitors. 
Francois  shall  witness  that  De  Baradas 
Gave  him  the  secret  missive  for  De  Bouillon, 
And  told  him  life  and  death  were  in  the  scroll. 
I  will— I  will! 

Jos. 

Tush  !  Francois  is  your  creature ; 

So  they  will  say,  and  laugh  at  you :  your  witness 

Must  be  that  same  dispatch. 


RICHELIEU.  71 

Rich. 
Away  to  Marion  ! 

Jos. 

I  have  been  there :  she  is  seized,  removed,  imprisoned, 
By  the  count's  orders. 

Rich. 

Goddess  of  bright  dreams, 
My  country,  shalt  thou  lose  me  now,  when  most 
Thou  need'st  thy  worshipper  ?     My  native  land ! 
Let  me  but  ward  this  dagger  from  thy  heart, 
And  die  but  on  thy  bosom  ! 

[Enter  Julie  c. 

Julie. 

Heaven,  I  thank  thee ! 

It  cannot  be,  or  this  all-powerful 

Would  not  stand  idly  thus. 

Rich. 

What  dost  thou  here  ? 
Home ! 

Julie. 

Home  ?     Is  Adrian  there  ?  you  're  dumb,  yet  strive 
For  words ;  I  see  them  trembling  on  your  lip, 
But  choked  by  pity.     It  was  truth  —  all  truth ! 
Seized  —  the  Bastile — and  in  your  presence,  too  ! 
Cardinal,  where  is  Adrian  ?     Think  !  he  saved 
Your  life  :  your  name  is  infamy,  if  wrong 
Should  come  to  his  ! 


Be  soothed,  child. 


Rich. 


Julie. 


Child  no  more ; 

I  love,  and  I  am  woman  !     Hope  and  suffer : 

Love,  suffering,  hope — what  else  doth  make  the  strength 

And  majesty  of  woman  ?     Let  thine  eyes  meet  mine: 


72  RICHELIEU. 

Answer  me  but  one  word :   I  am  a  wife : 
I  ask  thee  for  my  home,  my  fate,  my  all  — 
Where  is  my  husband  ? 

Rich. 
You  are  Richelieu's  ward  ; 
A  soldier's  bride  :  they  who  insist  on  truth 
Must  outface  fear :  you  ask  me  for  your  husband  ? 
There — where  the  clouds  of  heaven  look  darkest,  o'er 
The  domes  of  the  Bastile  !25 

Julie. 
O,  mercy  !  mercy  ! 

Save  him,  restore  him,  father !     Art  thou  not 
The  Cardinal-king?  the  lord  of  life  and  death  — 
Beneath  whose  light,  as  deeps  beneath  the  moon, 
The  solemn  tides  of  empire  ebb  and  flow  ?  — 
Art  thou  not  Richelieu  ? 

Rich. 

Yesterday  I  was  !  — 

To-day  a  very  weak  old  man  :  to-morrow, 

I  know  not  what !  [  Crosses  to  L. 

Julie.  [To  Joseph, 

Do  you  conceive  his  meaning  ? 

Alas  !  I  cannot.     But,  methinks  my  senses 

Are  duller  than  they  were. 

Jos. 
The  king  is  chafed 

Against  his  servant.     Lady,  while  we  speak, 
The  lackey  of  the  ante-room  is  not 
More  powerless  than  the  minister  of  France. 

[  Joseph  goes  to  Richelieu.     Enter  First  Courtier  R 

First  Co:/:: 
Madame  de  Mauprat ! 
Pardon,  your  eminence  — even  now  I  seek 
This  lady's  home,  commanded  by  the  king 
To  pray  her  presence. 


RICHELIEU.  73 

Julie.  [  Clinging  to  Richelieu. 

Think  of  my  dead  father ! 
Think,  how,  an  infant,  clinging  to  your  knees, 
And  looking  to  your  eyes,  the  wrinkled  care 
Fled  from  your  brow  before  the  smile  of  childhood, 
Fresh  from  the  dews  of  heaven  !     Think  of  this, 
And  take  me  to  your  breast. 

Rich.  \  To  Courtier. 

To  those  who  sent  you  ! 

And  say  you  found  the  virtue  they  would  slay, 
Here  —  couched  upon  this  heart,  as  at  an  altar, 
And  sheltered  by  the  wings  of  sacred  Rome  ! 
Begone  !  [  The  Courtier  uncovers  and  bows  reverently. 

First  Cour. 

My  lord,  I  am  your  friend  and  servant. 
Misjudge  me  not ;  but  never  yet  was  Louis 
So  roused  against  you  :  shall  I  take  this  answer?  — 
It  were  to  be  your  foe. 

Rich. 
All  time  my  foe, 

If  I,  a  priest,  could  cast  this  holy  sorrow 
Forth  from  her  last  asylum  ! 

[Exit  First  Courtiers.     Julie  faints  in  the  Cardi- 
nal's arms. 

Rich. 

God  help  thee,  child  !     She  hears  not !     Look  upon  her ! 
Her  father  loved  me  so !  and  in  that  age 
When  friends  are  brothers ;  she  has  been  to  me 
Soother,  nurse,  plaything,  daughter.     Are  these  tears  ?36 
O  !  shame  !  shame  !  dotage  ! 

[Joseph  assists  to  place  Julie  on  seat  \.. 

Jos. 

Tears  are  not  for  eyes 

That  rather  need  the  lightning,  which  can  pierce 
Through  barred  gates  and  triple  walls,  to  smite 
Crime,  where  it  cowers  in  secret !     The  dispatch  ! 


74  RICHELIEU. 

Set  every  spy  to  work ;  the  morrow's  sun 
Must  see  that  written  treason  in  your  hands, 
Or  rise  upon  your  ruin. 

Rich. 

Ay  —  and  close  upon  my  corse. 
Yes  !  to-morrow,  triumph  or  death. 
Look  up,  child!     Lead  us,  Joseph. 

[As  they  are  going  c,  enter  Baradas  and  De  Ber- 
inghen  r. 

Bar. 

My  lord,  the  king  cannot  believe  your  eminence 
So  far  forgets  your  duty,  and  his  greatness, 
As  to  resist  his  mandate.     Pray  you,  madam, 
Obey  the  king:  no  cause  for  fear. 

Julie.  [  To  Richelieu. 

My  father! 

Rich.  [To  Baradas. 

She  shall  not  stir! 

Bar. 

You  are  not  of  her  kindred  — 
An  orphan 

Rich. 
The  country  is  her  mother! 

Bar. 
The  country  is  the  king! 

Rich. 
Ay,  is  it  so; 

Then  wakes  the  power,  which  in  the  age  of  iron  27 
Burst  forth  to  curb  the  great,  and  raise  the  low. 
Mark  where  she  stands:  [He places  Julie  L.  c. 

Around  her  form  I  draw 
The  awful  circle  28  of  our  solemn  church ! 

[Baradas  and  De  Beringhen  uncover. 
Set  but  a  foot  within  that  holy  ground, 
And  on  thy  head  —  yea,  though  it  wore  a  crown  — 
I  launch  the  curse  of  Rome ! 

[All  but  Richelieu  and  Joseph  kneel.      Joseph  dis- 
plays the  cross. 


RICHELIEU.  75 

Bar.  [Rises, 

I  dare  not  brave  you ! 
I  do  but  speak  the  orders  of  my  king. 
The  church,  your  rank,  power,  very  word,  my  lord, 
Suffice  you  for  resistance :  blame  yourself, 
If  it  should  cost  you  power! 

Rich. 

That  my  stake.     Ah! 

Dark  gamester !  what  is  thine !     Look  to  it  well ! 
Lose  not  a  trick.     By  this  same  hour  to-morrow 
Thou  shalt  have  France,  or  I  thy  head! 

Bar.      [Aside  to  De  Beringhen. 
He  cannot  have  the  dispatch  ? 

Jos.  [Aside. 

Patience!     Patience! 

Rich. 
O!  monk! 

Leave  patience  to  the  saints  —  for  I  am  human! 
Did  not  thy  father  die  for  France,  poor  orphan ! 

[  To  Julie,  embracing  her. 
And  now  they  say  thou  hast  no  father.     Fie! 
Art  thou  not  pure  and  good  ?     If  so,  thou  art 
A  part  of  that  —  the  beautiful,  the  sacred  — 
Which,  in  all  climes,  men  that  have  hearts  adore 
By  the  great  title  of  their  mother  country. 

Bar. 
He  wanders  ! 

Rich. 

So;  cling  close  unto  my  breast: 

Here  where  thou  droop  'st  lies  France !     I  am  very  feeble: 

Of  little  use  it  seems  to  either  now. 

Well,  well  —  we  will  go  home. 

Bar. 
In  sooth,  my  lord, 

You  do  need  rest;  the  burdens  of  the  state 
O  'ertask  your  health. 


76  RICHELIEU. 

Rich.  [To  Joseph. 

I  'm  patient,  see  ! 

Bar. 

His  mind 

And  life  are  breaking  fast. 

Rich .  [  Oi  vr hearing  him . 

Irreverent  ribald! 

If  so,  beware  the  falling  ruins!     Hark! 
I  tell  thee,  scorner  of  these  whitening  hairs, 
When  this  snow  melteth  there  shall  come  a  flood! 
Avaunt!  my  name  is  Richelieu — I  defy  thee! 
Walk  blindfold  on :  behind  thee  stalks  the  headsman. 
Ha !  ha !  —  how  pale  he  glares !    Heaven  save  my  country ! 

[Falls  back  in  Joseph's  arms. 

CURTAIN. 


%f 


%tt  Jpifti). 


Paris.      Apartment   of   State    in    the 
Scene  HvBt.  <J      Louvre.     Throne    r.     Baradas    and 
Orleans  discovered. 

Bar. 

All  smiles :  the  Cardinal's  swoon  of  yesterday- 
Heralds  his  death  to-day:  could  he  survive, 
It  would  not  be  as  minister — so  great 
The  king's  resentment  at  the  priest's  defiance. 
All  smiles!  and  yet  should  this  accursed  De  Mauprat 
Have  given  our  packet  to  another — 'Sdeath  ! 
I  dare  not  think  of  it! 

Or/. 

You've  sent  to  search  him? 

Bar. 

Sent,  sir,  to  search?  —  that  hireling  hands  may  find 

Upon  him,  naked,  with  its  broken  seal, 

That  scroll  whose  every  word  is  death?     No  —  no  — 

These  hands  afone  must  clutch  that  awful  secret. 

I  dare  not  leave  the  palace,  night  or  day, 

While  Richelieu  lives:  his  minions,  creatures,  spies  — 

Not  one  must  reach  the  king. 

Or/. 
What  hast  thou  done? 

Bar. 

Summoned  De  Mauprat  hither. 

Or/. 
Could  this  Huguet, 

Who  prayed  thy  presence  with  so  fierce  a  fervour, 
Have  thieved  the  scroll  ? 


7^  RICHELIEU. 

Bar. 

Huguet  was  housed  with  us, 

The  very  moment  we  dismissed  the  courier. 

It  cannot  be:  a  stale  trick  for  reprieve. 

But,  to  make  sure,  I  've  sent  our  trustiest  friend 

To  see  and  sift  him.     Hist!  here  comes  the  king. 

How  fare  you,  sire  ? 

[Enter  Louis  c. 
Louis. 
In  the  same  mind  I  have 
Decided :  yes,  he  would  forbid  your  presence, 
My  brother, —  yours,  my  friend:  then,  Julie,  too: 
Th  warts — braves — defies  — 

[Suddenly  turning  to  Baradas. 
We  make  you  minister. 
Gaston,  for  you  —  the  baton  of  our  armies. 
You  love  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Orl 

O,  love  you,  sire! 

[Aside.]  Never  so  much  as  now. 

Bar. 
May  I  deserve 

Your  trust  [aside]  —  until  you  sign  your  abdication. 
My  liege,  but  one  way  left  to  daunt  De  Mauprat, 
And  Julie  to  divorce. — We  must  prepare 
The  death-writ :  what,  tho'  signed  and  sealed  ?  we  can 
Withhold  the  enforcement. 

Louis. 
Ah,  you  may  prepare  it: 
We  need  not  urge  it  to  effect. 

Bar. 

Exactly ! 

No  haste,  my  liege.      [Aside.]     He  may  live   one  hour 
longer. 

[Enter  Courtier  c. 


RICHELIEU.  79 

Coin . 
The  Lady  Julie,  sire,  implores  an  audience. 

Louis. 

Aha!  repentant  of  her  folly!  —  Well, 
Admit  her. 

Bar. 

Sire,  she  comes  for  Mauprat  's  pardon. 
And  the  conditions 

Louis. 
You  are  minister, 
We  leave  to  you  our  answer. 

[The  Captain  of  the  Guard  enters  L.  and  whispers 
to  Baradas,  who  has  advanced  to  meet  him. 

Capt. 
The  Chevalier 
De  Mauprat  waits  below. 

Bar.  [Aside. 

Now  the  dispatch ! 

[Exeunt  Baradas  and  Captain  l.    Enter  Julie  c 

Julie. 

My  liege,  you  sent  for  me.     I  come  where  grief 
Should  come  when  guiltless,  while  the  name  of  king 
Is  holy  on  the  earth.     Here,  at  the  feet 
Of  power,  I  kneel  for  mercy. 

Louis. 
Mercy,  Julie, 

Is  an  affair  of  state.     The  Cardinal  should 
In  this  be  your  interpreter. 

Julie. 
Alas! 

I  know  not  if  that  mighty  spirit  now 
Stoops  to  the  things  of  earth.     Nay,  while  I  speak, 
Perchance  he  hears  the  orphan  by  the  throne 


So  RICHELIEU. 

Where  kings  themselves  need  pardon.  —  O,  my  liege, 
Be  father  to  the  fatherless :  in  you 
Dwells  my  last  hope. 

[Enter  Baradas  L. 
Bar.  [Aside. 

He  has  not  the  dispatch; 

Smiled  while  we  searched,  and  braves  me. 

Louis.  [Gently. 

What  wouldst  thou  ? 

Julie. 

A  single  life.     You  reign  o'er  millions;  what 

Is  one  man's  life  to  you  ?  and  yet  to  me 

'Tis  France — 'tis  earth  —  'tis  everything! — a  life, 

A  human  life  —  my  husband's. 

Louis. 

[Aside  to  Baradas,  who  has  quietly  approached  r. 

Speak  to  her. 

I  am  not  marble:  give  her  hope — or [Exit  Louis  c. 

Bar.  [  To  Julie. 

Madam, 

Vex  not  your  king,  whose  heart,  too  soft  for  justice, 
Leaves  to  his  ministers  that  solemn  charge. 

Julie. 
You  were  his  friend. 

Bar. 
1  was,  before  I  loved  thee. 

Julie. 
Loved  me! 

Bar. 

Hush,  Julie!  couldst  thou  misinterpret 

My  acts,  thoughts,  motives,  nay,  my  very  words, 

Here  —  in  this  palace? 


RICHELIEU.  8 1 

Julie. 
Now  I  know  I  'm  mad: 
Even  that  memory  failed  me. 

Bar. 
I  am  young, 

Well-born  and  brave  as  Mauprat: — for  thy  sake 
I  peril  what  he  has  not  —  fortune  —  power; 
All  to  great  souls  most  dazzling.     I  alone 
Can  save  thee  from  thy  tyrant,  now  my  puppet. 
Be  mine :  annul  the  mockery  of  this  marriage, 
And,  on  the  day  I  clasp  thee  to  my  breast, 
De  Mauprat  shall  be  free. 

Julie. 
Thou  durst  not  speak 
Thus  in  his  ear! 

[Pom ting  to  Louis,  who  is  seen,  passing,  at  back, 
with  Orleans. 
Thou  double  traitor!  — tremble  ! 
I  will  unmask  thee. 

Bar. 
I  will  say  thou  ravest. 

And,  see  this  scroll:  its  letters  shall  be  blood! 
Go  to  the  king,  count  with  me  word  for  word: 
And  while  you  pray  the  life  —  I  write  the  sentence! 

[Goes  to  table  R. 
Julie. 

Stay,  stay.  [Pushing  to  the  king,  who  enters  c. 

You  have  a  kind  and  princely  heart, 
Tho'  sometimes  it  is  silent :  you  were  born 
To  power — it  has  not  flushed  you  into  madness, 
As  it  doth  meaner  men.     Banish  my  husband — 
Dissolve  our  marriage  —  cast  me  to  that  grave 
Of  human  ties,  where  hearts  congeal  to  ice, 
In  the  dark  convent's  everlasting  winter 
(Surely  eno'  for  justice,  hate,  revenge), 
But  spare  this  life,  thus  lonely,  scathed,  and  bloomless; 
And  when  thou  stand'st  for  judgment  on  thine  own, 
The  deed  shall  shine  beside  thee  as  an  angel. 
6 


82  RICHELIEU. 

Louis.  [Mitch  affected. 

Go,  go,  to  Baradas:  and  annul  thy  marriage, 

And 

Julie. 

[Anxiously,  and  watching  his  countenance. 
Be  his  bride? 

Louis. 

A  form,  a  mere  decorum; 
Thou  know'st  I  love  thee. 

Julie. 
O,  thou  sea  of  shame, 
And  not  one  star. 

[  The  king  goes  up  the  stage,  a?id  passes  out   c. 
in  evident  emotion. 

Bar.  [Advances. 

Well,  thy  election,  Julie: 
This  hand  —  his  grave! 

Julie. 

His  grave!  and  I 

Bar. 
Can  save  him. 
Swear  to  be  mine. 

Julie. 

That  were  a  bitterer  death ! 

Avaunt,  thou  tempter !     I  did  ask  his  life 

A  boon,  and  not  the  barter  of  dishonour. 

The  heart  can  break,  and  scorn  you  :  wreak  your  malice; 

Adrian  and  I  will  leave  you  this  sad  earth, 

And  pass  together  hand  in  hand  to  heaven. 

Bar. 

You  have  decided.     Listen  to  me,  lady : 
I  am  no  base  intriguer.     I  adored  thee 
From  the  first  glance  of  those  inspiring  eyes : 
With  thee  entwined  ambition,  hope,  the  future. 


RICHELIEU.  8$ 

I  will  not  lose  thee  !     I  can  place  thee  nearest — 
Ay,  to  the  throne — nay,  on  the  throne,  perchance: 
My  star  is  at  its  zenith.     Look  upon  me; 
Hast  thou  decided  ? 

Julie. 
No,  no ;  you  can  see 
How  weak  I  am;  be  human,  sir — one  moment. 

Bar. 

[Signals  by  stamping.     Enter  De  Mauprat,   with 
guards  l. 

Behold  thy  husband :  shall  he  pass  to  death, 
And  know  thou  couldst  have  saved  him  ? 

Julie. 
Adrian,  speak! 

But  say  you  wish  to  live!  —  if  not  your  wife 
Your  slave :  do  with  me  as  you  will ! 

De  Maup. 
Once  more  !  — 

Why  this  is  mercy,  count!     O,  think,  my  Julie, 
Life,  at  the  best,  is  short — but  love  immortal! 

Bar.  [  Taking  Julie's  hand. 

Ah,  loveliest 

Julie, 

Go !  that  touch  has  made  me  iron ! 
We  have  decided — death! 

Bar.  [To  De  Mauprat. 

Now,  say  to  whom 
Thou  gavest  the  packet,  and  thou  yet  shalt  live. 

De  Maup. 
I  '11  tell  thee  nothing. 

Bar, 
Hark, —  the  rack  ! 


84  RICHELIEU. 

De  Maup. 
Thy  penance 
Forever,  wretch  ! — What  rack  is  like  the  conscience  ? 

Par. 
Hence  to  the  headsman! 

[Enter  a  Page  c.  He  announces  : 

Page. 

His  Eminence,  the  Cardinal, Due  de  Richelieu. 

[Enter  Pic  he  lieu  c,  very  feeble,  leaning  on  Joseph, 
attended  by  gentlemen,  pages,  etc.,  and  followed  by 
three  secretaries  of  state,  with  papers. 

Julie.         [Rushing  to  Richelieu. 
You  live — you  live  —  and  Adrian  shall  not  die! 

Rich. 

Not  if  an  old  man's  prayers,  himself  near  death, 
Can  aught  avail  thee,  daughter!     Count,  you  now 

[  To  Parados. 
Hold  what  I  held  on  earth:  —  one  boon,  my  lord, 
This  soldier's  life. 

Par. 

The  stake — my  head!  —  you  said  it. 

I  cannot  lose  one  trick.     Remove  your  prisoner. 

[  To  officer. 
Julie. 
No!  — No!  — 

[Enter  Louis  and  Courtiers  c. 

Rich.  [  To  officer. 

Hold,  sir. 

[To  the  king 
My  liege, 

Your  worn-out  servant,  willing  to  spare  you 
Some  pain  of  conscience,  would  forestall  your  wishes: 
1  do  resign  mv  office. 

All. 
You! 


All 's  over. 


RICHELIEU.  85 

Julie. 
Rich. 


My  end  draws  near.     These  sad  ones,  sire,  I  love  them: 
I  do  not  ask  his  life ;  but  suffer  justice 
To  halt,  until  I  can  dismiss  his  soul, 
Charged  with  an  old  man's  blessing. 

Louis. 
Surely! 

Bar. 
Sire 

Louis. 

Silence :  small  favour  to  a  dying  servant. 

Rich. 

You  would  consign  your  armies  to  the  baton 

Of  your  most  honoured  brother.     Sire,  so  be  it. 

Your  minister,  the  Count  de  Baradas; 

A  most  sagacious  choice !     Your  secretaries 

Of  state  attend  me,  sire,  to  render  up 

The  ledgers  of  a  realm. —  I  do  beseech  you, 

Suffer  these  noble  gentlemen  to  learn 

The  nature  of  the  glorious  task  that  waits  them, 

Here,  in  my  presence. 

Louis. 

You  say  well,  my  lord. 

[To  secretaries,  as  he  seats  himself  on  throtie. 
Approach,  sirs. 

[  The  secretaries  advance  and  kneel. 

Rich. 

I  —  I  —  faint! — air — air — 

[De  Mauprat  assists  Richelieu  to  a  sofa  L. 
I  thank  you :  draw  near,  my  children. 


g6  RICHELIEU. 

Bar. 

He's  too  weak  to  question; 

Nay,  scarce  to  speak;  all's  safe. 

[Julie  kneels  beside  the  Cardinal.  Joseph  stands 
near  Richelieu,  watching  the  king.  Bar  a  das 
near  the  king's  chair.  A  page  takes  papers  fro?n 
the  secretaries  and  gives  them  to  Louis. 

First  Sec. 
The  affairs  of  Portugal, 

Most  urgent,  sire:  —  One  short  month  since  the  Due 
Braganza  was  a  rebel. 

Louis. 
And  is  still. 

First  Sec. 

No,  sire;  he  has  succeeded;  he  is  now 

Crowned  king  of  Portugal;  craves  instant  succour 

Against  the  arms  of  Spain. 

Louis. 
[Louis  looks  carelessly  at  papers  and  gives  them  to 
Baradas. 
We  will  not  grant  it 
Against  his  lawful  king.     Eh,  count  ? 

Bar. 

No,  sire. 

First  Sec. 

But  Spain 's  your  deadliest  foe :  whatever 
Can    weaken  Spain  must   strengthen    France.     The  Car- 
dinal 
Would  send  the  succours; — balance,  sire,  of  Europe  ! 

Louis. 

The  Cardinal !  balance  !     We  '11  consider.     Eh,  count  ? 

Bar. 

Yes,  sire  :   [  To  Secretary]  fall  back. 


But 


O  !  fall  back,  sir. 


Humph  ! 


RICHELIEU.  87 

First  Sec. 

Bar. 

[  Secretary  rises,  and  retires. 
Jos. 
Second  Sec. 


The  affairs  of  England,  sire,  most  urgent :  Charles 

The  First  has  lost  a  battle  that  decides 

One-half  his  realm;  craves  moneys,  sire,  and  succour. 

Louis. 
He  shall  have  both. —  Eh,  Baradas  ? 

Bar. 

Yes,  sire. 

0  that  dispatch!  —  my  veins  are  fire! 

Rich. 

[Feebly,  but  with  great  distinctness. 
My  liege, 

Forgive  me;  Charles's  cause  is  lost:  a  man, 
Named  Cr'omwell,  risen :  a  great  man !  your  succour 
Would  fail;  your  loans  be  squandered!     Pause:  reflect. 

Louis. 
Reflect.     Eh,  Baradas  ? 

Bar. 
Reflect,  sire. 

Jos. 
Humph  ! 

Louis.  [Aside. 

1  half  repent !     No  successor  to  Richelieu. 
Round  me  thrones  totter;  dynasties  dissolve: 
The  soil  he  guards  alone  escapes  the  earthquake. 


88 


RICHELIEU. 

Jos. 


Our  star  not  yet  eclipsed:  you  mark  the  king  ? 
O  had  we  the  dispatch  ! 


Rich. 


Ah  !  Joseph  !  —  child  — 
Would  I  could  help  thee ! 


Sir,  fall  back. 
But 


Pshaw,  sir! 


Bar. 

Second  Sec. 
Bar. 

Third  Sec. 


[  To  Secretary, 


[Secretary  retires. 


The  secret  correspondence,  sire,  most  urgent: 
Accounts  of  spies;  deserters;  heretics; 
Poisoners;  schemes  against  yourself. 

Louis. 
Myself!  most  urgent! 

[Louis  looks  at  this  document  eagerly.  Enter  Fran- 
(ois  c.  He  passes  behind  the  Cardinal's  attend- 
ants, and,  sheltered  by  them  from  the  sight  oj 
Baradas,  gives  packet  to  Richelieu. 


My  lord ! 

I  have  not  failed  ! 

Hush ! 


Fran. 


Rich. 


[Opens packet  and  looks  at  its  contents. 
Third  Sec.  [To  the  king. 


Sire,  the  Spaniards 

Have  reinforced  their  army  on  the  frontiers. 

The  Due  de  Bouillon 


RICHELIEU.  89 

Rich. 

Hold!  [Secretary retires.}     In  this  department,    [To Louis. 

A  paper:  here,  sire,  read  yourself;  then  take 

The  count's  advice  in  't. 

[Frangois  takes  packet  and  gives  it  to  the  king, 
who  rises  and  goes  L.  At  same  time  enter  De 
Beringhen  hastily,  draws  aside  Baradas,  and 
whispers  to  him. 

Bar. 

[Starting  wildly  away  from  De  Beringhen. 
What !  and  reft  it  from  thee  ? 
Ha!  — hold! 

[Tries  to  intercept  delivery  of  the  packet. 

Jos.  [  To  Baradas. 

Fall  back,  son.     It  is  your  turn  now  ! 

Bar. 
Death  !  —  the  dispatch  ! 

Louis.  [Reading. 

To  Bouillon  —  and  signed  Orleans! 
Baradas,  too :  league  with  our  foes  of  Spain ! 
Capture  the  king!  —  Saints  of  heaven  ! 
These  are  the  men  I  loved ! 

[Richelieu  fills  back,  apparently  fainting. 

Jos. 
See  to  the  Cardinal ! 

Bar. 

He  's  dying !  and  I  yet  shall  dupe  the  king. 

Louis.         [Rushing  to  Richelieu. 

Richelieu  !     Lord  Cardinal !  't  is  I  resign ! 
Reign  thou ! 

Jos. 
Alas !  too  late  !  —  he  faints ! 


90  RICHELIEU. 

Louis. 
Reign,  Richelieu! 

Rich.  [Feebly. 

With  absolute  power  ? 

Louis. 
Most  absolute!  —  O,  live  ! 
If  not  for  me  —  for  France  ! 

Rich.        [  With  more  animation. 
France ! 

Louis. 
0  !  this  treason  ! 
The  army  —  Orleans  —  Bouillon  —  Heaven  !     the    Span  - 

iard ! 
Where  will  they  be  next  week  ? 

[As  Louis  turns  toward  the  throne  c.  he  encounters 
Baradas,  kneeling;  he  motions  him  away  and 
falls  into  his  seat.    Baradas  rises  and  goes  to  R. 

Rich. 

[Starting  up,  and  with  force. 
There, — at  my  feet! 

[All  show  amazement  at  Richelieu's  recovery. 
[  To  First  and  Second  Secretaries. 
Ere  the  clock  strike  —  the  envoys  have  their  answer ! 

[First  and  Second  Secretaries  exeunt. 
[  To  Third  Secretary,  with  a  ring. 
This  to  De  Chavigny :  he  knows  the  rest : 
No  need  of  parchment  here:  he  must  not  halt 
For  sleep  —  for  food. —  In  my  name, —  mine  —  he  will 
Arrest  the  Due  de  Bouillon  at  the  head 
Of  his  army !  —  Ho  !  there,  Count  de  Baradas, 

[Exit  Third  Secretary. 
Thou  hast  lost  the  stake !  — Away  with  him  ! 29 

[Baradas  draws  sword;  attempts  to  rush  out ;  is 
arrested ;    throws   down    sword;  bows    to   the 
king;  and  goes  out  guarded. 
Embrace  your  husband  !  [To  Julie. 

[  Dc  Afaufrat  and  Julie  embrace. 
At  last  the  old  man  blesses  you ! 


RICHELIEU.  91 

Louis.  [Jronically. 

One  moment  makes  a  startling  cure,  lord  Cardinal. 30 

Rich. 

Yes,  Sire,  for  in  that  moment  there  did  pass 

Into  this  withered  frame  the  might  of  France !  ■ 

My   own  dear  France !    I  have  thee   yet :   I  have  saved 

thee ! 
I  clasp  thee  still !   it  was  thy  voice  that  called  me 
Back  from  the  tomb !     What  mistress  like  our  country  ? 

Louis. 

For  Mauprat's  pardon  —  well !     But  Julie, —  Richelieu  : 
Leave  me  one  thing  to  love ! 

Rich. 
A  subject's  luxury : 
Yet,  if  you  must  love  something,  sire  —  love  me! 

Louis. 

[Smiling,  in  spite  of  himself. 
Fair  proxy  for  a  young,  fresh  demoiselle ! 

Rich. 

Your  heart  speaks  for  my  clients  :  —  kneel,  my  children, 
And  thank  your  king  — 

[De  Mauprat  and  Julie  kneel.  De  Beringhen 
attempts  to  go  out  c,  but  is  met  by  Joseph,  who 
prevents  him. 

Louis. 
Rise — rise  —  be  happy. 

[De  Beringhen  advances  and  speaks. 

De  Ber.  [Falteringly. 

My  lord  —  you  are  most  happily  recovered. 


92 


RICHELIEU. 


Rich. 

But  you  are  pale,  dear  Beringhen :  this  air 

Suits  not  your  delicate  frame:  I  long  have  thought  so: 

Sleep  not  another  night  in  Paris :  go, — 

Or  else  your  precious  life  may  be  in  danger. 

Leave  France,  dear  Beringhen.       [  Orleans  k?ieels  to  Louis. 

De  Ber. 
St.  Denis  travelled  without  his  head ! 
Faith,  I'm  luckier  than  St.  Denis! 
I  shall  have  time, 
More  than  I  asked  for,  to  discuss  the  pate. 

[Exit  De  Beringhen  c. 

Rich.  [To  Orleans. 

For  you,  repentance,  absence  and  confession. 

[  Orleans  goes  out  c.      To  Francois,  who  kneels  L. 
Never  say  fail  again.     Brave  boy ! 

[  To  Joseph  l. 
He'll  be  — 
A  bishop  first. 

Jos. 
Ah,  Cardinal  — 

Rich. 
Ah,  Joseph. 

[To   Louis,  as  De   Mauprat  and  Julie  converse 
apart. 
See,  my  liege,  through  plots  and  counterplots, 
Through  gain  and  loss,  through  glory  and  disgrace, 
Along  the  plains  where  passionate  discord  rears 
Eternal  Babel,  still  the  holy  stream 
Of  human  happiness  glides  on. 

Louis. 
And  must  we 
Thank,  for  that  also,  our  prime  minister  ? 

Rich. 
No  —  let  us  own  it:  —  there  is  One  above 
Sways  the  harmonious  mystery  of  the  world 
Better  than  prime  ministers. 

CURTAIN. 


RICHELIEU. 

APPENDIX. 

I. — The  Drama  and  Character  of  Richelieu. 

it  "l~v  ICHELIEU  "  stands  in  the  front  rank  of  romantic  dramas.  It 
f^  tells  a  story  of  perspicuous  simplicity,  yet  of  enthralling 
interest.  It  presents  clearly  denned  characters  in  natural 
relations  to  each  other.  It  is  vitalized  by  a  steady  dramatic  movement, 
that  increases  in  force  and  speed  till  it  reaches  an  electrical  climax  and 
a  beautiful  culmination.  It  is  adequately  freighted  —  without  being 
burdened  —  with  situations  that  excite  the  imagination  and  touch  the 
heart.  Its  spirit  is  sympathetic  with  virtue  and  gentleness,  and,  there- 
fore, it  captivates  the  general  instincts  of  human  nature.  Above  all,  it 
is  imaginative :  it  idealizes  reality,  and  does  not  weary  by  presenting 
character  and  experience  in  the  garb  of  prosy  fact.  Viewed  as  an  ideal 
fabric,  it  is  a  drama  without  serious  defect.  Its  salient  blemish  is  one 
of  literary  art:  that  is  to  say,  there  is  some  tinsel  in  its  language  —  an 
infusion  of  the  paste-diamond  element  that  is  peculiar  to  most  of  Bulwer's 
works.  But,  little  faults  dwindle  to  nothing  alongside  of  great  merits. 
"  Richelieu  "  is  a  play  that  constantly  affords  pleasure,  by  procuring  and 
extolling  —  under  deeply  interesting  and  highly  picturesque  conditions 
of  circumstance  —  the  victory  of  good  over  evil.  To  have  written  a 
drama  which  thus  makes  its  spectators  happier  and  better  for  their  seeing 
of  it,  is  to  have  deserved  the  gratitude  of  the  world.  Considerate 
judgment  will  not  dwell  with  censure  upon  the  slight  defect  of  an  occa- 
sional tawdry  line  in  a  drama  so  radically  powerful  and  brilliant. 

The  character  of  Richelieu,  as  it  is  herein  portrayed,  is  higher  and 
finer  —  as  it  ought  to  be  —  than  that  of  the  historic  Cardinal.  Richelieu 
was  not,  in  actual  life,  the  noble  spirit  that  he  is  in  this  rosy  fiction. 
The  dramatist  has  depicted  him  as  just,  wise,  kind,  gentle,  tolerant  of 
weakness,  sympathetic  with  virtue  and  innocence,  superior  to  trials, 
Steadfast  in  danger,  sensitive  to  every  sweet  and  poetic  influence,  and 


94  APPENDIX. 

only  hostile  and  bitter  when  confronted  with  tyranny  and  wrong.  The 
lower  side  of  his  nature,  to  be  sure,  is  craft :  but  it  is  the  craft  of  a 
philosopher  and  not  of  a  trickster.  When  Richelieu  uses  indirection,  it 
is  such  indirection  as  a  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  of  worldly 
affairs  has  taught  him  to  be  essential  in  the  conduct  of  life  and  the 
government  of  mankind.  He  never  resorts  to  the  skin  of  the  fox  till  the 
skin  of  the  lion  has  proved  too  short.  In  this  drama  he  is  shown  in  the 
expenditure  of  great  powers  upon  small  affairs  —  in  the  protection  of  a 
pair  of  young  lovers,  and  in  the  defeat  of  a  political  intrigue :  but  these 
affairs  are  representative  of  what,  in  fact,  were  the  prominent  occupa- 
tions of  his  life,  and  of  what,  equally  in  fact,  are  the  universal  occupa- 
tions of  the  human  race.  Love,  fame,  wealth,  power  —  these  are  at  once 
the  squrces  and  the  objects  of  all  human  action ;  and  these  are  the 
elements  upon  which  the  force  of  Richelieu  is  seen  to  be  expended.  He 
is  presented  as  a  man  of  potent  intellect  and  pure  sensibility ;  and, 
notwithstanding  his  little  vanities  and  the  pettiness  of  the  designs  amid 
which  he  moves,  his  nature  never  declines  from  a  stately  and  imperial 
individualism.  The  charm  of  the  character  grows  out  of  this  relation  of 
it  to  its  circumstances.  Richelieu  is  the  embodiment  of  virtuous  power, 
shown  in  its  grandest  phase  and  function  as  the  protector  of  innocent 
weakness.  Seeing  this  aged  priest,  as  he  rises  in  the  eye  of  the  imagina- 
tion, the  observer  instinctively  feels,  without  pausing  to  reflect  upon  it, 
that  this  is  a  grand  and  noble  old  man,  in  whom  the  affections  live  an 
immortal  life,  who  will  be  as  true  as  steel  to  all  that  is  good  and  pure, 
who  wears  with  authentic  right  the  royal  garb  of  power,  and  who  must 
as  inevitably  conquer  and  dominate  as  the  sun  must  rise.  W.  W. 


II. — Facts  in  the  Life  of  Richelieu. 

Armand  Jean  du  Plessis,  Cardinal,  and  Ducde  Richelieu,  was  born,  in 
Paris,  in  1585.  He  was  a  member  of  a  noble  family,  and  in  early  youth 
was  destined  for  the  Army;  but,  upon  his  brother's  resignation  of  the 
See  of  Lu9on,  he  embraced  an  opportunity,  then  presented,  to  dedicate 
himself  to  the  service  of  the  Church.  Having  studied  theology,  at  the 
college  of  Navarre,  he  was,  in  1607,  consecrated  Bishop  of  Lucon.  His 
earlier  priestly  endeavours  were  devoted  to  the  conversion  of  the 
Huguenot  Calvinists.  In  1614  he  was  chosen  Deputy  to  the  State- 
General.  His  eloquence  attracted  notice,  and  he  was  presently  named 
almoner  to  Marie  de  Medicis,  widow  of  Henri  IV.  and  mother  to  Louis 
XIII.  A  little  later  he  became  Secretary  of  State  for  foreign  affairs 
and  for  war.     He  had  enjoyed,  for  a  time,  at  this  period  in  his  career, 


APPENDIX.  95 

the  protection  of  Marshal  d'Ancre,  the  favourite  of  the  queen ;  but,  in 
the  commotion  which  attended  the  ruin  and  murder  of  that  minister, — 
who  was  assassinated  in  the  Louvre,  April  24th,  1617, —  the  star  of 
his  fortunes  suffered  a  temporary  eclipse.  He  was  banished  to 
Lucon,  and  afterwards  to  Avignon,  where  he  devoted  his  talents  to 
the  writing  of  theological  treatises.  But  he  was  presently  fortunate 
enough  to  effect  a  formal  reconciliation  between  Louis  XIII.  and  the 
queen ;  and  in  1622,  at  the  age  of  37,  he  was  created  Cardinal.  Two 
years  later  he  became  Prime  Minister  of  France.  His  government  was 
characterized  by  great  power  and  splendour,  and  by  marvellous  success. 
He  waged  a  deadly  war  against  the  Huguenots,  and  utterly  subdued 
them.  His  siege  and  capture  of  Rochelle,  in  1628,  was  an  incident  of 
this  war.  In  1635  he  founded  the  French  Academy.  The  chief  work 
of  his  life  was  the  maintenance  of  French  supremacy  in  the  affairs  of 
continental  Europe,  by  resistance  to  the  encroachments  of  the  [Austrian] 
House  of  Hapsburg.  He  built  the  Palais  Cardinal,  now  called  the 
Palais  Royal, — which  is,  in  part,  the  scene  of  Bulwer's  drama, —  and  he 
rebuilt  and  beautified  the  College  of  Sorbonne.  Several  conspiracies 
were  formed  against  the  Cardinal ;  but  his  force  of  character,  his 
sagacity,  and  his  tremendous  energy  of  purpose  and  action  thwarted 
and  subdued  them  all.  The  day  on  which  Richelieu  discomfited  one  of 
the  most  formidable  of  these  plots  —  in  which  the  king  was  a  participant 
— was  called  the  Day  of  Dupes  ;  from  the  fact  that  all  the  persons 
concerned  in  it  were  duped  by  the  sagacious  and  expeditious  Cardinal. 
Richelieu  died  on  the  4th  of  December,  1642.  He  had  named  Cardinal 
Mazarin  as  his  successor.  The  student  is  referred  to  three  lives  of  this 
famous  statesman:  by  Aubrey,  1660;  by  John  Le  Clerc,  1718;  and  by 
Joy,  1806.  W.  W. 

III.— The  Author's  Preface  to  Richelieu. 

The  administration  of  Cardinal  Richelieu  —  whom,  despite  all  his 
darker  qualities,  Voltaire  and  history  justly  consider  the  true  architect  of 
the  French  monarchy,  and  the  great  parent  of  French  civilization  —  is 
characterized  by  features  alike  tragic  and  comic.  A  weak  king,  an 
ambitious  favourite  ;  a  despicable  conspiracy  against  the  Minister,  nearly 
always  associated  with  a  dangerous  treason  against  the  State;  —  these, 
with  little  variety  of  names  and  dates,  constitute  the  eventful  cycle 
through  which,  with  a  dazzling  ease  and  an  arrogant  confidence,  the 
great  luminary  fulfilled  its  destinies.  Blent  together,  in  startling 
contrast,  we  see  the  grandest  achievements  and  the  pettiest  agents  —  the 


g6  APPENDIX. 

spy  —  the  mistress  —  the  capuchin :  —  the  destruction  of  feudalism — the 
humiliation  of  Austria —  the  dismemberment  of  Spain. 

Richelieu  himself  is  still  what  he  was  in  his  own  day  —  a  man  of  two 
characters.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  he  is  justly  represented  as  inflexible 
and  vindictive,  crafty  and  unscrupulous;  so,  on  the  other,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  he  was  placed  in  times  in  which  the  long  impunity 
of  every  license  required  stern  examples ;  that  he  was  beset  by  perils 
and  intrigues  which  gave  a  certain  excuse  to  the  subtlest  inventions  of 
self-defense ;  that  his  ambition  was  inseparably  connected  with  a 
passionate  love  for  the  glory  of  his  country ;  and  that,  if  he  was  her 
dictator,  he  was  not  less  her  benefactor.  It  has  been  fairly  remarked,  by 
the  most  impartial  historians,  that  he  was  no  less  generous  to  merit 
than  severe  to  crime ;  that,  in  the  various  departments  of  the  State,  the 
Army,  and  the  Church,  he  selected  and  distinguished  the  ablest  aspir- 
ants; that  the  wars  which  he  conducted  were,  for  the  most  part, 
essential  to  the  preservation  of  France,  and  Europe  itself,  from  the 
formidable  encroachments  of  the  Austrian  House ;  that,  in  spite  of 
those  wars,  the  people  were  not  oppressed  with  exorbitant  imposts  ;  and 
that  he  left  the  kingdom  he  had  governed  in  a  more  flourishing  and 
vigorous  state  than  at  any  former  period  of  the  French  history,  or  at  the 
decease  of  Louis  XIV. 

The  cabals  formed  against  this  great  statesman  were  not  carried  on 
by  the  patriotism  of  public  virtue  nor  the  emulation  of  equal  talent : 
they  were  but  court  struggles,  in  which  the  most  worthless  agents  had 
recourse  to  the  most  desperate  means.  In  each,  as  I  have  before 
observed,  we  see  combined  the  twofold  attempt  to  murder  the  minister 
and  to  betray  the  country.  Such,  then,  are  the  agents,  and  such  the 
designs  with  which  truth,  in  the  drama  as  in  history,  requires  us  to 
contrast  the  celebrated  Cardinal ;  not  disguising  his  foibles  or  his  vices, 
but  not  unjust  to  the  grander  qualities  —  especially  the  love  of  country 
—  by  which  they  were  often  dignified,  and,  at  times,  redeemed. 

The  historical  drama  is  the  concentration  of  historical  events.  In  the 
attempt  to  place  upon  the  stage  the  picture  of  an  era,  that  license  with 
dates  and  details  which  poetry  permits,  and  which  the  highest  authori- 
ties in  the  drama  of  France  herself  have  sanctioned,  has  been,  though 
not  unsparingly,  indulged.  The  conspiracy  of  the  Due  de  Bouillon  is, 
for  instance,  amalgamated  with  the  denouement  of  the  Day  of  Dupes  ;  and 
circumstances  connected  with  the  treason  of  Cinq-Mars — whose  brilliant 
youth  and  gloomy  catastrophe  tend  to  subvert  poetic  and  historic  justice, 
by  seducing  us  to  forget  his  base  ingratitude  and  his  perfidious  apostacy — 
are   identified  with  the  fate  of  the  earlier  favourite,    Baradas,   whose 


APPENDIX.  97 

sudden  rise  and  as  sudden  fall  passed  into  a  provOrb.  I  ought  to  add 
that  the  noble  romance  of  "  Cinq-Mars  "  suggested  one  of  the  scenes  in 
the  fifth  act ;  and  that  for  the  conception  of  some  portion  of  the  intrigue 
connected  with  De  Mauprat  and  Julie,  I  am,  with  great  alterations  of 
incident,  and  considerable  if  not  entire  reconstruction  of  character, 
indebted  to  an  early  and  admirable  novel  by  the  author  of  "  Picciola." 
London,  March,  1839.  E.  L.  B. 

IV.— Historical  Hints  for  Richelieu. 

The  Count  de  Soissons  and  the  Duke  de  Bouillon  had  a  good  army, 
and  they  knew  how  to  use  it ;  and,  for  the  greater  certainty,  resolved  that, 
whilst  this  army  should  advance,  they  would  assassinate  the  Cardinal, 
and  stir  up  Paris  to  revolt.  *  *  *  The  conspirators  made  a  treaty 
with  Spain  to  introduce  her  troops  into  France,  and  to  throw  everything 
into  confusion  by  a  Regency,  which  they  thought  would  follow,  and  by 
which  each  one  hoped  to  profit.  *  *•  *  Richelieu  had  lost  all  his 
favour,  and  retained  only  the  advantage  of  being  necessary.  His  good 
fortune  ordained,  at  the  last,  that  the  plot  should  be  discovered,  and 
that  a  copy  of  the  treaty  should  fall  into  his  hands. — Voltaire. 

V.— Notes  to  Richelieu. 

1  Epistemon  speaks  of  Cleopatra  as  a  crier  of  onions  in  the  other  world. 
"  Her  kingdom  produced  exceeding  good  ones,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
Israelites.  Besides,  of  the  two  pearls  of  inestimable  price  which 
that  queen  owned,  she,  having  caused  her  lover  Antony  to  swallow 
one,  dissolved  in  vinegar,  intended  to  regale  him  with  the  second,  if 
she  had  not  been  hindered.  Perhaps  it  was  by  way  of  punishment  for 
this  prodigality  that  she  is  reduced  to  sell  onions  —  that  is,  such  fruit  as 
the  Latins  call  unions,  a  sort  of  onions — as  well  as  pearls." — Rabelais. 

2  Daphne  was  loved  and  pursued  by  Apollo :  when  on  the  point  of 
being  overtaken  by  him  she  prayed  for  aid,  and  was  instantly  metciraor 
phosed  into  a  laurel  tree. 

3  Olivares,  Minister  of  Spain. 

4  In  six  months  the  King  made  Baradas  "First  Esquire,"  "First 
Gentleman  of  the  Chamber,"  "Captain  of  St.  Germain,"  and  "Lieut, 
of  the  King  in  Champagne."  In  still  less  time  he  was  turned  out  of  all, 
and  the  ruins  of  his  grandeur  left  him  hardly  enough  to  pay  his  debts. 
His  sudden  rise  and  as  sudden  fall  passed  into  a  proverb,  so  that  we  say, 
to  signify  a  great  fortune  dissipated  as  soon  as  acquired,  in  common 
parlance — "  The  fortune  of  Baradas." — Anquetil. 

7 


98  APPENDIX. 

s  Richelieu  did,  in  fact,  so  thoroughly  associate  himself  with  the  State, 
that,  in  cases  where  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  had  been  incurred, 
Le  Clerc  justly  observes,  he  was  more  inexorable  to  those  he  had 
favoured — even  to  his  own  connections  —  than  to  other  and  more  indif- 
ferent offenders.  As  in  Venice  (where  the  favourite  aphorism  was, 
"Venice  first,  Christianity  next")  so  with  Richelieu;  the  primary  con- 
sideration was,  "  what  will  be  best  for  the  country  ?  "  On  his  death-bed 
he  was  asked  if  he  forgave  his  enemies.  He  replied,  "  I  never  had  any 
but  those  of  the  State."  And  this  was  true  enough,  for  Richelieu  and 
the  State  were  one. 

6  There  are  many  anecdotes  of  the  irony,  often  so  terrible,  in  which 
Richelieu  indulged.  But  he  had  a  love  for  humour  in  its  more  hearty 
and  genial  shape.  He  would  send  for  Boisrobert  "  to  make  him  laugh," 
and  grave  ministers  and  magnates  waited  in  the  ante-room  while  the 
great  Cardinal  listened  and  responded  to  the  sallies  of  the  lively  wit. 

7  The  Abbe"  Amaud  tells  us  that  the  queen  was  a  little  avenged  on  the 
Cardinal  by  the  ill-success  of  the  tragic  comedy  of  "  Mirame" —  more  than 
suspected  to  be  his  own,  though  presented  to  the  world  under  the  foster 
name  of  Desmarets.  Its  representation  (says  Pelisson),  cost  him  300,000 
crowns.  He  was  so  transported  out  of  himself  by  the  performance  that 
at  one  time  he  thrust  his  person  half  out  of  his  box  to  show  himself  to 
the  assembly  ;  at  another  time  he  imposed  silence  on  the  audience  that 
they  might  not  lose  the  still  more  beautiful  passages.  He  said  after- 
wards to  Desmarets  :  "  After  all,  the  French  will  never  have  any  taste  — 
they  were  not  pleased  with  Mirame  !  " 

8  Vialart  remarque  une  chose  qui  peut  expliquer  la  conduite  de 
Richelieu  en  d'autres  circonstances :  c'est  que  les  seigneurs  a  qui 
leur  naissance  ou  leur  mdrite  pouvoit  permettre  des  pretensions,  il  avoit 
pour  systeme,  de  leur  accorder  au  de  la  meme  de  leurs  droits  et  de 
leur  esperances,  mais,  aussi  une  fois  comble's  —  si,  au  lieu  de  reconnoitre 
ses  services  ils  se  levoient  contre  lui,  il  les  traitot  misericorde. — Anque- 
til.  See  also  the  "Political  Testament,"  and  the  "  Memoires  de 
Cardinal  Richelieu,"  in  Petitot's  collection. 

9  "So  much  a  fanatic,  so  ?nuck  a  knave,  founder  of  the 'Religieuses'  of 
Calvary,  a  maker  of  verses."  Thus  speaks  Voltaire  of  Father  Joseph. 
His  talents  and  influence  with  Richelieu,  grossly  exaggerated  in  his  own 
day,  are  now  rightly  estimated.  He  was,  in  fact,  an  indefatigable  man  ; 
carrying  with  his  enterprizes  the  activity,  the  suppleness,  the  stubborn- 
ness necessary  to  make  them  succeed. — Anquetil.  He  wrote  a  Latin 
poem  called  "  La  Turciade,"  in  which  he  sought  to  excite  the  kingdoms 
of  Christians  against  the  Turks.     But  the  inspiration  of  Tyrtaeus  was 


APPENDIX.  99 

denied  to  Father  Joseph.  His  hair  was  red  ;  but  for  fear  of  displeasing 
the  King,  who  detested  red  hair,  he  used  leaden  combs,  which  gave  it  a 
dark  color. 

,0  Richelieu  was  commonly  supposed,  though  I  cannot  say  I  find 
much  evidence  for  it,  to  have  been  too  presuming  in  an  interview  with 
Anne  of  Austria  (the  Queen),  and  to  have  bitterly  resented  the  contempt 
she  expressed  for  him. 

11  Richelieu  not  only  employed  the  lowest,  but  would  often  consult 
men  commonly  esteemed  the  dullest.  "  He  said  that,  in  matters  of  the 
greatest  importance,  he  had  found,  by  experiment,  that  the  least  wise 
often  suggested  the  best  expedients." — Le  Clerc. 

12  Both  Richelieu  and  Joseph  were  originally  intended  for  the  pro- 
fession of  arms.  Joseph  had  served,  before  he  obeyed  the  spiritual 
inspiration  to  become  a  Capuchin.  The  death  of  his  brother  opened  to 
Richelieu  the  Bishopric  of  Lucon  ;  but  his  military  propensities  were  as 
strong  as  his  priestly  ambition.  I  need  scarcely  add  that  the  Cardinal, 
during  his  brilliant  campaign  in  Italy,  marched  at  the  head  of  his  troops, 
in  complete  armour.  It  was  under  his  administration  that  occurred  the 
last  example  of  proclaiming  war  by  the  chivalric  defiance  of  herald 
and  cartel. 

"3  Richelieu  valued  himself  much  on  his  personal  activity ;  for  his 
vanity  was  as  universal  as  his  ambition.  A  nobleman  at  the  house  of 
Grammont  one  day  found  him  employed  in  jumping,  and,  with  all  the 
savoir  vivre  of  a  Frenchman  and  a  courtier,  offered  to  jump  against  him. 
He  suffered  the  Cardinal  to  jump  higher,  and  soon  after  found  himself 
rewarded  by  an  appointment.  Yet,  strangely  enough,  this  vanity  did 
not  lead  to  a  patronage  injurious  to  the  State  ;  for  never  before  in  France 
was  ability  made  so  essential  a  requisite  in  promotion.  He  was  lucky  in 
finding  the  cleverest  men  among  his  adroitest  flatterers. 

'4  Voltaire  openly  charges  Richelieu  with  being  the  lover  of  Marion 
de  Lorme.  The  great  poet  of  France,  Victor  Hugo,  has  sacrificed 
History  to  adorn  her  with  qualities  which  certainly  were  not  added  to  her 
personal  charms.  She  was  not  less  perfidious  than  beautiful.  Le  Clerc 
properly  refutes  the  accusation  of  Voltaire  against  the  discretion  of 
Richelieu ;  and  says,  very  justly,  that,  if  the  great  minister  had  the 
frailties  of  human  nature,  he  learnt  how  to  veil  them, —  at  least  when 
he  obtained  the  scarlet.  In  earlier  life  he  had  been  prone  to  gallantries 
which  a  little  prepossessed  the  King  (who  was  formal  and  decorous,  and 
threw  a  singular  coldness  into  the  few  attachments  he  permitted  to 
himself)  against  the  aspiring  intriguer.  But  these  graver  occupations 
died  away  in  the  engagement  of  higher  pursuits  or  of  darker  passions. 


IOO  APPENDIX. 

*5  The  guard  attached  to  Richelieu's  person  was,  in  the  first  instance, 
fifty  soldiers,  afterward  increased  to  two  companies  of  cavalry  and 
two  hundred  musketeers.  Huguet  is,  therefore,  to  be  considered 
merely  as  the  lieutenant  of  a  small  detachment  of  this  little  army. 

16  Joseph's  ambition  was  not,  however,  so  moderate ;  he  refused  a 
bishopric,  and  desired  the  Cardinal's  hat,  for  which  favour  Richelieu 
openly  supplicated  the  Holy  See,  but  contrived,  somehow  or  other, 
never  to  effect  it,  although  two  ambassadors  applied  for  it  at  Rome. 

*7  The  peculiar  religion  of  Pere  Joseph  may  be  illustrated  by  the 
following  anecdote :  An  officer,  whom  he  had  dismissed  upon  an  expe- 
dition into  Germany,  moved  by  conscience  at  the  orders  he  had 
received,  returned  for  further  explanations,  and  found  the  Capuchin 
disant  sa  masse.      He  approached  and  whispered:  "But,  my  father,  if 

these   people    defend   themselves "      "  Kill  all,"  (Qu'on  tue  tout,) 

answered  the  good  father,  continuing  his  devotion. 

18  Voltaire  has  a  striking  passage  on  the  singular  fate  of  Richelieu, 
recalled  every  hour  from  his  gigantic  schemes  to  frustrate  some  miserable 
cabal  of  the  ante-room.  Richelieu  would  often  exclaim  that  "  Six  pieds 
de  terre  (as  he  called  the  king's  cabinet)  lui  donnaient  plus  de  peine  que 
tout  le  reste  de  l'Europe."  The  death  of  Wallenstein,  sacrificed  by  the 
Emperor  Ferdinand,  produced  a  most  lively  impression  upon  Richelieu. 
He  found  many  traits  of  comparison  between  Ferdinand  and  Louis  — 
Wallenstein  and  himself.  In  the  memoirs — now  regarded  by  the  best 
authorities  as  written  by  his  sanction,  and  in  great  part  by  himself — the 
great  Frenchman  bursts  (when  alluding  to  Wallenstein's  murder)  into  a 
touching  and  pathetic  anathema  on  the  misere  de  cette  vie  of  dependence 
on  jealous  and  timid  royalty,  which  he  himself,  while  he  wrote,  sustained. 
It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  it  was  precisely  at  the  period  of  Wallenstein's 
death  that  Richelieu  obtained  from  the  king  an  augmentation  of  his 
guard. 

J9  The  fear  and  hatred  which  Richelieu  generally  inspired  were  not 
shared  by  his  dependents  and  those  about  his  person,  who  are  said  to 
have  adored  him.  His  servants  looked  upon  him  as  the  best  of 
masters. — Le  Clerc.  In  fact,  although  he  was  proud  and  choleric,  he 
was  at  the  same  time  no  less  affable  and  generous  to  those  who  served, 
than  severe  to  those  who  opposed  him. 

20  In  common  with  his  contemporaries,  Richelieu  was  credulous  as 
to  the  divinations  of  astrology.  He  was  too  fortunate  a  man  not  to  be 
superstitious. 

21  Louis  XIII.  is  said  to  have  possessed  some  natural  talents,  and  in 
earlier  youth  to  have  exhibited  the  germs  of  noble  qualities  ;  but  a  blight 


APPENDIX.  IOI 

seemed  to  have  passed  over  his  maturer  life.  Personally  brave,  but 
morally  timid,  always  governed,  whether  by  his  mother  or  his  minister, 
and  always  repining  at  the  yoke, —  the  only  affection  amounting  to  a 
passion  that  he  betrayed  was  for  the  sports  of  the  field.  Yet  it  was  his 
crowning  weakness  (and  this  throws  a  kind  of  false  interest  over  his 
character)  to  wish  to  be  loved.  He  himself  loved  no  one.  He  suffered 
the  only  woman  who  seems  to  have  been  attached  to  him  to  wither  in  a 
convent ;  he  gave  up  favourite  after  favourite  to  exile  or  the  block.  When 
Richelieu  died  he  said,  coldly,  "  There  is  a  great  politician  dead  !"  And 
when  the  ill-fated,  but  unprincipled  Cinq-Mars,  whom  he  called  dear 
friend,  was  beheaded,  he  drew  out  his  watch  at  the  fatal  hour,  and  said, 
with  a  smile:  "I  think  at  this  moment  the  dear  friend  makes  an  ugly 
face."  Nevertheless,  his  conscience  at  times  (for  he  was  devout  and 
.superstitious),  made  him  gentle,  and  his  pride  and  his  honour  would  often, 
when  least  expected,  rouse  him  into  haughty  but  brief  resistance  to  the 
despotism  under  which  he  lived. 

-  One  of  Richelieu's  severest  and  least  politic  laws  was  that  which 
made  duelling  a  capital  crime.  Never  was  the  punishment  against  the 
offence  more  relentlessly  enforced ;  and  never  were  duels  so  desperate 
and  so  numerous.  The  punishment  of  death  must  be  evidently  ineffec- 
tual so  long  as  to  refuse  a  duel  is  to  be  dishonoured,  and  so  long  as  men 
hold  the  doctrine,  however  wrong,  that  it  is  better  to  part  with  the  life 
that  Heaven  gave  than  with  the  honour  that  man  makes.  In  fact,  the 
greater  the  danger  he  incurred,  the  greater  was  the  punctilio  of  that 
cavalier  of  the  time  in  braving  it. 

23  In  his  Memoirs  Richelieu  gives  an  amusing  account  of  the  insolence 
and  arts  of  Baradas,  and  observes  with  indignant  astonishment  that  the 
favourite  was  never  weary  of  repeating  to  the  king  that  he  (Baradas)  would 
have  made  just  as  great  a  minister  as  Richelieu.  It  is  on  the  attachment 
of  Baradas  to  La  Cressias,  a  maid  of  honour  to  the  Queen-Mother,  of 
whom,  according  to  Baradas,  the  King  was  enamoured  also,  that  his 
love  for  the  Julie  de  Mortemar  of  the  play  has  been  founded.  The 
secret  of  Baradas'  sudden  and  extraordinary  influence  with  the  King 
seems  to  rest  in  the  personal  adoration  which  he  professed  for  Louis, 
with  whom  he  affected  all  the  jealousy  of  a  lover,  but  whom  he  flattered 
with  the  ardent  chivalry  of  a  knight.  Even  after  his  disgrace  he  placed 
upon  his  banner,  "  Fiat  voluntas  tua." 

24  Of  the  haughty  and  rebuking  tone  which  Richelieu  assumed  in  his 
expostulations  with  the  King,  Montesquieu  says:  "He  degraded  the 
King,  but  he  made  illustrious  the  reign."  But  however  proud  and 
choleric  in  his  disputes  with  Louis,  the  Cardinal  did  not  always  disdain 


t02  APPENDIX. 

recourse  to  the  arts  of  the  courtier.  Once,  after  an  angry  discussion 
with  the  King,  in  which,  as  usual,  Richelieu  got  the  better,  Louis,  as 
they  quitted  the  palace  together,  said,  rudely,  "Go  first — you  are  indeed 
the  King  of  France."  "  If  I  pass  out  first,"  replied  the  minister,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and  with  great  adroitness,  "it  is  only  as  the 
humblest  of  your  servants;"  and  he  took  a.  flambeau  from  one  of  the 
pages,  to  light  the  king  as  he  walked  before  him. 

z5  According  to  the  custom  of  Louis  XIII.,  to  cause  the  arrest  of  a 
person  for  a  State  crime,  and  to  have  him  put  to  death,  was  very  nearly 
the  same  thing. — Le  Clerc. 

26  Like  Cromwell  and  Rienzi,  Richelieu  appears  to  have  been  easily 
moved  to  tears.  The  Queen-Mother,  who  put  the  hardest  interpretation 
on  that  humane  weakness  which  is  natural  with  very  excitable  tempera- 
ments, said:  "  He  weeps  whenever  he  chooses."  It  is  recorded  of  him 
that  when  his  affairs  did  not  succeed  he  was  cast  down  and  frightened, 
and  when  he  had  obtained  that  which  he  desired  he  was  proud  and 
insulting. 

27  This  alludes  to  Hildebrand  (Gregory  VII.),  who  carried  his 
authority  so  far  as  to  send  legates  into  all  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  to 
support  his  rights. 

28  When  Popilius  Lenas  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  Antiochus,  King 
of  Syria,  whom  the  Roman  Senate  wished  to  restrain  from  hostilities 
against  Egypt,  he  gave  the  King  the  letter  of  the  Senate,  which  he  read, 
and  promised  to  take  into  consideration.  Then,  as  Antiochus  was 
about  marching  upon  Alexandria,  Popilius  described  with  his  cane  a 
circle,  in  the  sand,  round  the  king,  and  ordered  him  not  to  stir  out  of  it 
until  he  had  given  a  decisive  answer,  at  the  risk  of  Rome's  displeasure. 
This  boldness  so  frightened  Antiochus  that  he  at  once  yielded  to  the 
demand. 

29  The  passion  of  the  drama  requires  this  catastrophe  for  Baradas. 
He,  however,  survived  his  disgrace,  though  stripped  of  all  his  rapidly 
acquired  fortunes ;  and  the  daring  that  belonged  to  his  character  won 
him  distinction  in  foreign  service.  He  returned  to  France  after  Riche- 
lieu's death,  but  never  regained  the  same  court  influence.  He  had  taken 
the  vows  of  a  Knight  of  Malta,  and  Louis  made  him  a  Prior. 

3°  The  sudden  resuscitation  of  Richelieu  (not  to  strain  too  much  on  the 
real  passion  which  supports  him  in  this  scene)  is  in  conformance  with 
the  more  dissimulating  part  of  his  character.  The  extraordinary  mobility 
of  his  countenance  (latterly  so  death-like,  save  when  the  mind  spoke  in 
the  features),  always  lent  itself  to  stage  effect  of  this  nature.  The 
Queen-Mother  said  of  him  that  she  had  seen  him  one  moment  so  feeble, 


APPENDIX. 


103 


cast-down  and  "  semi-mort,"  that  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  giving  up 
the  ghost ;  and  the  next  moment  he  would  start  up,  full  of  animation 
and  energy. 

Ruelle,  or  Reuil,  is  a  town  of  France,  situated  at  the  foot  of  Mont 
Valerien,  about  five  miles  from  Paris. 

Joseph,  the  Capuchin,  was  commonly  called  Father  Joseph.  He  was 
a  wily  intriguant,  and  rendered  much  service  to  Richelieu.  He  died, 
of  apoplexy,  in  1638. 

The  author's  dedication  of  "Richelieu,"  which,  it  may  be  assumed, 
he  wished  should  accompany  every  edition  of  the  play,  is  in  the  follow- 
ing words:  "To  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne,  K.  G.,  &c,  &c,  this 
drama  is  inscribed,  in  tribute  to  the  talents  which  command,  and  the 
qualities  which  endear,  respect." 

The  author  of  "  Picciola  "  was  Joseph  Xavier  Boniface  Saintine.  He 
was  born  at  Paris,  July  10th,  1798,  and  died  there,  January  21st,  1865. 
He  published  dramas,  poems,  and  romances,  a  collection  of  philosophical 
stories,  called  "Jonathan,  the  Visionary,"  and  a  "  History  of  the  Wars 
in  Italy."  For  "Picciola,"  his  most  popular  work,  he  received  the 
Monthyon  Prize,  in  1837.  This  novel  passed  through  ten  editions 
within  eight  years,  and  it  has  been  translated  into  several  languages. 

The  novel  of  "Cinq-Mars,"  which  is  mentioned  in  Bulwer's  preface 
to  "  Richelieu  "  as,  in  part,  the  basis  of  the  piece,  was  written  by  Alfred 
Victor,  Count  de  Vigny,  a  native  of  France,  born  at  Loche,  in  1799. 
"  Cinq-Mars  "  was  published  in  1826,  and  it  has  been  translated  into 
several  languages.  De  Vigny  won  a  bright  distinction,  both  as  a  poet 
and  a  novelist.  He  wrote  several  plays,  one  of  which  illustrates  the 
gloomy  fate  of  Chatterton.  De  Vigny  was  a  member  of  the  French 
Academy.     He  died  in  1863. 

Henry  Coiffier  de  Ruze,  Marquis  de  Cinq-Mars,  was  born  in  France, 
in  1620.  At  the  age  of  18  he  was  presented  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIII., 
by  Cardina-1  Richelieu,  and  thereafter  he  soon  became  a  favourite  to  the 
king.  Ambition,  commingled  with  hatred  of  Richelieu,  presently  led 
him  to  form  a  conspiracy  against  the  Cardinal,  in  which  the  king 
himself,  and  his  brother  Gaston,  Due  d'Orleans,  participated.  The 
plot  miscarried  :  the  Cardinal  prevailed  :  and  Cinq-Mars  was  beheaded, 
tcjether  with  his  friend  the  Councillor  de  Thou,  at  Lyons,  September 
12th,  1642. 

Tyrrasus,  mentioned  above,  was  a  Greek  poet  of  the  7th  century,  B.  C. 
He  was  a  deformed  man,  blind  of  one  eye,  and  was  a  school-master. 
The  Spartans,  being  at  war  with  the  Messenians,  obeying  an  oracle, 


104  APPENDIX. 

asked  the  Athenians  for  a  leader.  The  Athenians  sent  to  them  Tyrtaeus, 
as  the  most  unfit  captain  that  could  be  chosen  ;  but  Tyrtaeus  so  inspired 
the  Spartans  by  his  war-songs  that  they  were  victorious,  and  subdued 
their  foes.  The  fragments  of  the  poems  of  Tyrtaeus  are  in  Gaisford's 
"  Poetae  Minores  Greci,"  translated  into  English  verse  by  Polwhele, 
1786-92. 

The  Capuchins  were  a  body  of  friars,  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis, 
instituted  by  Matteo  Baschi,  in  1525,  and  established  under  Pope 
Clement  VII.,  in  1529.  They  were  at  first  called  Friars  Hermits  Minor. 
Their  order  was  confirmed,  in  1536,  by  Pope  Paul  III.,  who  named 
them  Capuchins  of  the  Order  of  Friars  Minor.  Their  name  was 
derived  from  the  Latin  designation  [Caput/uni]  of  the  cowl  that  they 
wore.  This  head-gear  was  shaped  like  a  sugar-loaf.  The  Capuchins 
were  introduced  into  France  in  1573-74. 

Marie  de  Medicis,  the  Queen-mother,  was  born  at  Florence,  in  1573 ; 
made  mischief  for  everybody,  all  her  days  ;  was  exiled  by  Richelieu ;  and 
died,  at  Cologne,  in  destitution,  in  1642.  Louis  XIII.,  her  son,  was 
born  at  Fontainebleu,  September  27th,  1601  ;  came  to  the  throne  of 
France  in  1610 ;  and  died  at  St.  Germaine,  May  14th,  1643. 

Many  of  the  foregoing  notes  are  by  the  author.  Several  of  them  have 
been  shortened  and  modified,  and  several  useful  new  ones  have  been 
introduced.  There  are,  in  the  original,  other  notes,  which  relate  to 
passages  not  included  in  this  version  of  the  drama. — W.  W. 


THE  FOOL'S  REVENGE 


VOL.    Ill 


preface. 


*T^HE  tragedy  of  The  Pool's  Revenge — one  of  the  best 
■*■  works  of  the  English  dramatist  and  poet,  Tom 
Taylor — was  first  acted  in  1859,  at  Sadler's  Wells  Theatre, 
in  London.  Samuel  Phelps — a  tragedian  much  admired 
on  the  English  stage,  equally  as  a  scholar  and  an  artist — 
represented Bertuccio.  Tn  April,  1864,  Edwin  Booth  brought 
out  this  tragedy  at  JViblo's  Theatre,  New-  York, —  then  under 
the  management  of  William  Wheatley.  His  choice  of  the 
text,  his  stage-directions,  and  certain  alterations  of  the  piece, 
made  by  him,  are  seen  in  the  present  reprint.  An  important 
change,  which  it  is  hoped  will  be  thought  an  improvement, 
has  been  made  at  the  end — where,  now,  Bertuccio  dies,  while 
Dell'  A  qui  la,  as  a  matter  of  poetic  justice,  is  rewarded  with 
the  hand  of  Eiordelisa.  An  effort  has  also  been  made,  by 
re-arrangement  of  stage  business,  to  sharpen  and  heighten  the 
effect  of  the  final  catastrophe.  The  Author's  Preface  will  be 
found  on  another  page.  He  defines  his  indebtedness  to 
Victor  Hugo's  "Le  Roi  s' Amuse"  which  is  slight.  The 
subject  of  that  drama,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  also  treated 
in  the  opera  of  "Rigoletio."  An  Appendix  to  this  volume 
presents  a  sketch  of  the  Author,  remarks  on  the  costume  for 
this  piece,  thoughts  on  deformity  as  an  element  in  art,  and 
the  Editor's  views  of  this  tragedy.  "The  Pool's  Revenge  "  is 
to  be  considered  as,  almost  exclusively,  a  work  of  the  imagi- 


nation.  History  enters  but  slightly  into  its  texture.  The 
depravity  and  the  gaily  profligate  manners  of  the  corrupt, 
luxurious  little  Italian  courts  of  the  fifteenth  century  are, 
however,  shadowed  forth  in  its  incidents  and  text.  Benti- 
voglio  is  an  historic  name.  John  Bentivoglio  was  Lord  of 
Bologna,  from  about  1439  io  I5°^-  Ccesar  Borgia,  to 
whom  there  is  an  allusion  in  the  text,  died  in  1307.  The 
action  of  this  piece  is  assigned  to  1488.  Venice  had  then 
passed  the  meridian  of  her  greatness,  and  all  Italy  was 
broken  into  petty  states,  and  had  become  the  prey  of  plotting 
priests  and  turbulent  nobles.  The  Middle  Ages  were  coming 
to  an  end.  Louis  XI  had  just  finished  his  sanguinary  reign 
in  Trance.  Henry  VII — Richard  having  fallen  at  Bos- 
worth  field —  was  on  the  throne  of  Tngland.  The  crowns 
of  Aragon  and  Castile  had  been  united,  and  Spain,  under 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  had  become  a  great  power.  Thought 
upo?i  these  and  other  actual  surroundings  of  the  time  which 
it  is  sought  to  illustrate  will,  of  course,  help  to  make  this  old 
historic  period  more  a  reality  to  the  imagination  of  the 
student.  Bertuccio,  an  impossibility  now,  does  not  seem 
out  of  place  in  that  age  of  cruelty,  splendour,  romance, 
passion,  change,  and  general  upheaval  and  strife.  The 
character  is,  in  some  of  its  aspects,  repulsive ;  but  it  is 
redeemed  from  the  category  of  utterly  abhorrent  dramatic 
creations  by  its  vein  of  tenderness,  and  by  the  pathos  of  the 
experience  which  is  felt  to  have  distorted  its  virtue,  and 
turned  its  gentleness  to  insane  fury. 

W.   W. 

New-York,   October  27th,  18/8. 


* 


'Good  Thersites,  come  in  and  rail." — SHAKESPEARE. 


"Deformity  is  daring. 
It  is  its  essence  to  o '  ertake  mankind, 
By  heart  and  soul,  and  make  itself  the  equal — 
Ay,  the  superior  of  the  rest." —  Byron. 


"No  —  let  the  eagle  change  his  plume, 
The  leaf  its  hue,  the  flower  its  bloom: 
But  ties  around  this  heart  zvere  spun 
That  could  not,  would  not,  be  undone."—  CAMPBELL. 


"The  smile  upon  her  bo/inic  check 
Was  sweeter  than  the  bee  ; 
Her  voice  excelled  the  birdie  s  sang 
Upon  the  birchen  tree. 

Old  Scottish  Ballad. 


"For  from  that  day,  the  day  of  my  dishonour, 
From  that  day  have  I  cursed  the  rising  sun, 
Which  never  failed  to  tell  me  of  my  shame 
Yet  on  I  toiled,  and  groaned  for  an  occasion 
Of  ample  vengeance."— Young. 


"How  like  a  fawn  — 
Yet  statelier.     Hark  !  no  sound,  however  soft, 
Nor  gentlest  echo,  telleth  when  she  treads  ; 
But  every  motion  of  her  shape  doth  seem 
Hallowed  by  silence." 

Barry  Cornwall. 


"And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 
From  passion  s  dross  refined  and  clear, 
A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek 
It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  check  ; 
T  'is  that  7vhich  pious  fathers  shed. 
Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head." — Scott. 

'  'And  at  evening  evermore. 
In  a  chapel  on  the  shore. 
Shall  the  chaunters,  sad  and  saintly, 
Yellow  tapers  burning  faintly ; 
Doleful  masses  chaunt  for  thee, 
Miserere  Domine  ! ' ' 

Coleridge. 


Sfiut&or'g  preface  to  €J)c  jfooi'£  illctocngc* 


* 


THIS  drama  is  in  no  sense  a  translation,  and  ought  not,  I  think,  in 
fairness,  to  be  called  even  an  adaptation  of  Victor  Hugo's  fine  play, 
"  Le  Roi  s'  Amuse."  It  originated  in  a  request  made  to  me  by 
one  of  our  most  popular  actors,  to  turn  the  libretto  of  "  Rigoletto  "  into  a 
play,  as  he  wished  to  act  the  part  of  the  jester.  On  looking  at  Victor  Hugo's 
drama,  with  this  object,  I  found  so  much  in  it  that  seemed  to  me  inad- 
missible on  our  stage  ;  so  much,  besides,  that  was  wanting  in  dramatic 
motive  and  cohesion,  and  — I  say  it  in  all  humility — so  much  that  was 
defective  in  that  central  secret  of  stage  effect,  climax,  that  I  determined 
to  take  the  situation  of  the  jester  and  his  daughter,  and  to  recast  in  my 
own  way  the  incidents  in  which  their  story  was  invested.  The  death  of 
Galeotto  Manfredi  at  the  hands  of  his  wife,  Francesca  Bentivoglio,  is 
historical.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  atmosphere  of  a  petty  Italian  court 
of  the  Fifteenth  Century  was  well  suited,  as  a  medium,  for  presenting 
the  jester's  wrongs,  his  rooted  purpose  of  revenge,  and  the  miscarriage 
of  that  purpose.  I  should  not  have  thought  it  necessary  to  say  thus 
much,  had  not  some  of  the  newspaper  critics  talked  of  my  work  as  a 
simple  translation  of  Victor  Hugo's  drama,  while  others  described  it, 
more  contemptuously,  as  a  mere  rifaciamento  of  Verdi's  libretto.  Those 
who  will  take  the  trouble  to  compare  my  work  with  either  of  its  alleged 
originals  will  see  that  my  play  is  neither  translation  nor  rifaciamento. 
The  motives  of  Bertuccio,  the  machinery  by  which  his  revenge  is 
diverted  from  its  intended  channel,  and  the  action  in  the  court  subse- 
quent to  the  carrying  off  of  his  daughter,  are  my  own,  and  I  conceive 
that  these  features  give  me  the  fullest  right  to  call  "  The  Fool's  Revenge  " 
a  new  play,  even  if  the  use  of  Victor  Hugo's  "  Triboulet  "  and  "Blanche" 
disentitle  it  to  the  epithet  original  —  which  is  matter  of  opinion. 

For  the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  drama  is  mounted  and  repre- 
sented at  Sadler's  Wells,  and  for  the  peculiarly  powerful  impersonation 
of  Bertuccio,  I  owe  all  gratitude  to  Mr.  Phelps.  I  must  extend  that 
feeling  also  to  Miss  Heath,  Miss  Atkinson,  and  the  rest  of  the  Sadler's 
Wells  company,  engaged  in  the  representation  of  "The  Fool's  Re- 
venge." Tom  Taylor. 


$cr£ott£  ftcpre^cntcti. 


* 


Galeotto  Manfredi,  Duke  of  Facnza. 

Guido     Malatesta,    an    old   Military    Commander   and 
Nobleman. 

Baldassare  Torelli, 


J 


,•  Noblemen  and  Courliers. 
Gian  Maria  Ordelaffi 

Bernardo  Ascolti,  a  Florentine  Ambassador. 

Bertuccio,  a  Jester. 

Serafino  dell'Aquila,  a  Poet. 

ASCANIO,  a  Page  to  Francesca. 

Ginevra,    Wife  to  Malatesta. 

Francesca  Bentivoglio,   Wife  to  Manfredi,  and  Duchess 
of  Faenza. 

FlORDELISA,  Daughter  to  Bertuccio. 

Brigitta,  Servant  to  Bertuccio. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Chamberlains,  Pages-  and  Attendants. 


Scene. — Faenza,  in  Italy. 

Period. — End  of  the  fifteenth  century  [1488]. 

Time  of  Action.— A  little  less  than  forty-eight  hours. 


THE  FOOL'S    REVENGE. 


* 


Jkene  Jfirst  < 


First  Night. 

C  Faenza.  The  Gardens  of  Manfredi's 
Palace.  Terrace  at  back.  Garden, 
etc.,  illuminated.  festival  music 
at  rise  of  Curtain.  Moonlight  over 
the  whole  Scene.  Nobles  and 
Ladies  move  through  the  Gardens. 
Torelli  and  Ordelaffi  discovered. 
Enter,   to  them,  Ascolti. 

Tor. 

Messer  Bernardo,  you  shall  judge  between  us: 
Is  Ordelaffi's,  here,  a  feasting  face  ? 
I  say  't  is  fitter  for  a  funeral. 

Asc. 

An  Ordelaffi  scarce  can  love  the  feast 

That  greets  Octavian  Riario, 

Lord  of  Forli  and  Imola.  {Music  ceases. 

Ord. 

Because  our  line  were  masters  there  of  old, 
Till  they  were  fools  enough  to  get  pulled  down  ! 
I  was  born  to  no  lordship  but  my  sword. 
Thanks  to  my  stout,  black  bands,  I  look  to  win 
New  titles,  and  so  grieve  not  over  lost  ones. 


10  THE   FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

My  glove  upon  't !     I  '11  prove  a  lighter  dancer, 
A  lustier  wooer,  and  a  deeper  drinker, 
Than  e'er  a  landed  lordling  of  you  all. 
Is  it  a  wager  ? 

\Manfredi  and  Ginevra  pass  across  the  terrace,  at 
back.  Then  Malatesta  appears,  watching  them. 
They  pass  off^. 

Tor. 

My  hand  to  that !     There  's  Malatesta's  wife, 
The  fair  Ginevra.     Let 's  try  lucks  with  her  ? 

Asc. 
Ware  hawk!     Grey  Guido  's  an  old-fashioned  husband; 
Look  how  he  glares  upon  the  Lord  Manfredi : 
Each  of  his  soft  words  to  the  fair  Ginevra 
Is  a  dagger  in  the  old  fool's  heart. 

Ord. 

Sublime !  ripe  sixty  wedded  to  sixteen, 

And  thinks  to  shut  the  foxes  from  his  grapes ! 

Tor. 
The  duke,  too,  for  his  rival !     Poor  old  man ! 

Asc. 

Let  the  duke  look  to  it.     Ginevra's  smiles 
May  breed  him  worse  foes  than  Count  Malatesta. 
The  duchess !  [  Whispering. 

Tor. 

Faith,  't  is  ill  rousing  Bentivoglio  blood. 

Ord. 
And  she  's  as  jealous  as  her  own  pet  greyhound. 

Tor. 

And  sharper  in  the  teeth.     I  wonder  much 
She  leaves  Faenza,  knowing  her  Manfredi 
So  general  a  lover. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  II 

Asc. 
She  leaves  Faenza  ? 

Tor. 
So  they  say :  to-morrow 
Rides  to  Bologna,  to  her  grim  old  father, 
Giovanni  Bentivoglio. 

Asc. 
To  complain 
Of  her  hot-blooded  husband  ? 

Tor. 
Nay,  I  know  not : 

Enough,  she  goes,  and — fair  dame  as  she  is — 
A  murrain  go  with  her,  say  I.     There  never 
Was  good  time  in  Faenza,  since  she  came 
To  spoil  sport  with  her  jealousy.     Manfredi 
Will  be  himself  again  when  she  is  hence.  [Musk pp. 

Asc.   n 
Hush  !  here  she  comes (         [Looking  off  r.  u.  E. 

Ord.  ) 
With  that  misshapen  imp, 
Bertuccio.     Gibing  devil !     I  shall  thrust 
My  dagger  down  his  throat,  one  of  these  days ! 

Tor. 
Call  him  a  jester  ?  he  laughs  vitriol. 

Asc. 

Spares  nothing ;  cracks  his  random  scurril  quips 
Upon  my  master,  great  Lorenzo's  self. 

Ord. 

Do  the  knave  justice,  he  's  a  king  of  tongue-fence ; 
Not  a  weak  joint  in  all  our  armours  round 
But  he  knows  and  can  hit.     Confound  the  rogue ! 
I  'm  blistered  still  from  a  word-basting  he 
Gave  me  but  yesterday.     Would  we  were  quits  ! 


12  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Tor. 

Wait !  I  've  a  rod  in  pickle  that  shall  flay 

The  tough  hide  off  his  hump.     A  rare  revenge ! 

Asc. 
They  're  here  :  avoid ! 

[Ascolti,   Ordelaffi,  and   Torelli  mingle  with  the 

guests,  and  exeunt  l.  u.  e. — Re-enter  Manfredi, 

and  Ginevra,   followed    by    Malatesta    c. — 

They  cross  and  disappear. — Enter  Francesca, 

followed  by  Bertuccio. 

Fran. 

[Looking  off,  as  if  watching,  and  aside. 
Still  with  her! 

Changing  hot  palms  and  long  looks ! 
Hers  for  the  dance,  hers  at  the  feast,  all  hers ! 
Nothing  for  me  but  shallow  courtesies, 
And  hollow  coin  of  compliment  that  leaves 
The  craving  heart  as  empty  as  a  beggar 
Bemocked  with  counters ! 

[Music,  forte,  until  Bertuccio  speaks. 

Ber. 
[Counting  on  his  fingers  and  looking  at  the  moon. 
Moon — Manfredi — moon! 

Fran. 
Ha,  knave ! 

Ber. 
By  your  leave,  Monna  Cesca,  I  am  cyphering. 

[Note. — Monna  is  diminutive  for  Madonna,  Dame, 
or  Mistress,  and  Cesca  is  diminutive  for  Fran- 
cesca. 

Fran. 

Some  fool's  sum  ? 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  1 3 

Ber. 

Yes ;  running  your  husband's  changes 

Against  the  moon's.     Manfredi  has  it  hollow. 

It  comes  out  ten  new  loves  'gainst  five  new  moons ! 

Fran. 

Where  do  I  stand  ? 

Ber. 

First  of  the  ten ;  your  moon  was  a  whole  honey  one ; 
Excluding  that,  it  's  nine  loves  to  four  moons. 

Fran. 
You  pity  me,  Bertuccio  ? 

Ber. 
Not  a  whit ; 
I  pity  sparrows,  but  not  sparrow-hawks. 

Fran. 

I  read  your  riddle, —  I  am  strong  enough 

To  right  my  own  wrongs.     So  I  am,  while  here. 

Ber. 
Then  stay ! 

Fran. 

My  father  at  Bologna  looks  for  me. 

Ber. 
Then  go ! 

Fran. 

And  leave  him  here  —  with  her — both  free, 
And  not  a  friend  that  I  can  trust  to  watch 
And  give  me  due  report  how  things  go  'twixt  them. 
Had  I  one  friend 

Ber. 
You  have  Bertuccio. 


14  THE   FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Fran. 

Men  call  you  faithless,  bitter,  loving  wrong 

tor  wrong's  sake,  Duke  Manfredi's  worst  councillor, 

Still  prompting  him  to  evil. 

Ber. 
How  folks  flatter ! 

Fran. 

How,  then,  am  I  to  trust  you  ? 

Ber. 
Monna  Cesca, 

You  know  the  wild  beasts  that  your  husband  keeps 
Down  in  the  castle  fosse  ?     There  's  a  she-leopard 
I  lie  and  gaze  at  by  the  hour  together ; 
So  sleek,  so  graceful,  and  so  dangerous ! 
I  long  to  see  her  let  loose  on  a  man. 
Trust  me  to  draw  the  bolt,  and  loose  my  leopard. 

Fran. 
I  '11  trust  your  love  of  mischief,  not  of  me. 

Ber. 
That 's  safest ! 

Fran. 

I  must  know  how  fares  this  fancy 

Of  Duke  Manfredi  for  yon  pale  Ginevra  : 

Mark  him  and  her,  their  meetings,  communings; 

I  know  you  're  private  with  my  lord. 

Ber. 
He  trusts  me. 

Fran.  [  Giving-  ring. 

Here !  take  my  ring  :  your  letters  sealed  with  this, 
My  page  Ascanio  will  bring  me  straight ; 
'T  is  but  three  hours'  hard  riding — and  in  six 
I  'm  here  again.     Mark  !  write  not  on  suspicion : 


THE   FOOL'S    REVENGE.  1 5 

Let  evil  thought  ripen  to  evil  act ; 
That  in  the  full  flush  of  their  guilty  joys 
I  may  strike  sudden  and  strike  home. 
No  Bentivoglio  pardons ! 

Ber. 
Have  a  care ! 

Faenza  is  Manfredi's.     These  court-flies, 
Who  flutter  in  the  sunshine  of  his  favour, 
Have  stings  :  the  pudding-headed  citizens 
Love  his  free  ways :  he  leaves  their  wives  alone : 
You  play  your  own  head,  touching  his. 

Fran. 

Give  me  my  vengeance :  then  come  what  come  may. 

[Music  p. 
Enough ;  I  am  resolved.     Now  for  the  dance ! 
They  shall  not  see  a  cloud  upon  my  brow, 
Though  my  heart  ache  and  burn.     I  can  smile  too, 
On  him  and  her.     Bertuccio,  remember ! 

[Exit  France  sea  L.  u.  E. 

Ber.  [Looking  at  the  ring, 

A  blood-stone — apt  reminder!     Does  she  think 

That  none  but  she  has  wrongs  ?     That  none  but  she 

Means  to  revenge  them  ?     What  ?     "  No  Bentivoglio 

Pardons."     There  is  a  certain  vile  Bertuccio, 

A  twisted,  withered,  hunchbacked,  court  buffoon, 

A  thing  to  make  mirth,  and  to  be  made  mirth  of, 

A  something  betwixt  ape  and  man,  that  claims 

To  run  in  couples  with  your  ladyship. 

You  hunt  Manfredi,  I  hunt  Malatesta : 

Let  's  try  which  of  the  two  has  sharper  fangs . 

[Manfredi  and  Ginevra  re-appear  in  the  back- 
ground c,  still  followed  by  Malatesta. 

The  duke  and  Malatesta's  wife  !  [Retires. 

[Manfredi  and  Ginevra  come  forward,  Malatesta 
watching  them. 


1 6  THE    FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

Man. 

Not  yet !  but  one  more  round !     The  feast  is  blank 
For  me  when  you  are  gone.     The  flowers  lack  perfume, 
Missing  your  fragrant  breath.     The  music  sounds 
Harsh  and  untunable,  when  your  sweet  voice 
Makes  no  more  under-melody.     O,  stay !       [Music  ceases. 

Gin. 
I  am  summoned,  sir ;  my  husband  waits  for  me. 

Man.  [Aside. 

What  spoil-sports  are  these  husbands 

And  these  wives! 

Per  Bacco !     I  could  wish  Count  Malatesta 

Would  lend  my  duchess  escort  to  Bologna, 

So  we  were  both  well  rid.      [Malatesta  beckons  to  Ginevra. 

Gin. 
Your  pardon,  sir, 

My  husband  beckons.     It  is  I,  not  you, 
Must  bear  his  moods  to-night.     I  dare  not  stay. 

Man. 

I  would  not  bring  a  cloud  to  your  fair  brow 
For  all  Faenza.     Fare  you  well,  sweet  lady ! 

[He  leads  her  to  Malatesta. 
I  render  up  your  jewel,  Malatesta; 
See  that  you  guard  it  as  befits  its  price. 

Mai. 
Trust  me  for  that,  my  lord. 

Man.  [To  Ginevra. 

Sweet  dreams  wait  on  you. 

Mai.  [Aside. 

This  night  sees  her  safe  past  Faenza's  walls. 

[Exeunt  Malatesta  and  Ginevra  R.  i.  E. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  1 7 

Man.  [SitsR. 

A  peerless  lady ! 

Ber. 
[Comes  forward,  and  crouches  at  Manfred? s  feet. 
And  a  churlish  spouse ! 

Man. 
Bertuccio ! 

Ber. 
"  At  your  elbow,  sir,"  quoth  Satanus. 

Man. 
Come,  fool,  let 's  rail  at  husbands. 

Ber. 
Shall  I  call 
Your  wife  to  help  us  ? 

Man. 

Out  on  thee,  screech-owl ! 

[Kicks  Bertuccio  out  of  his  way,  rises,  and  crosses 
to  L. 
Just  when  I  felt  my  chains  about  to  fall 
Thou  mind'st  me  of  my  jailer.     Thank  the  saints, 
I  shall  be  free  to-morrow,  for  a  while. 
I  'm  thirsty  to  employ  my  liberty. 
Come,  my  familiar,  help  me  to  some  mischief; 
Some  pleasant  deviltry,  with  just  the  spice 
Of  sin  to  make  the  enjoyment  exquisite. 

Ber. 

Let  's  see ;  throat-cutting  's  pleasant,  but  that  's  stale ; 
Plotting  has  savour  in  it,  but  't  is  too  tedious : 
Say,  a  campaign  with  OrdelaffVs  band, 
So  you  may  feed  all  the  seven  sins  at  once. 

Man. 

Out,  barren  hound  !  thy  wits  are  growing  dull. 

[Strikes  Bertuccio. 


1 8  THE    FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

Ber. 

A  man  can't  always  be  finding  out  new  sins ; 
Think,  they  're  as  hard  to  hit  on  as  new  pleasures. 
My  head  on  't,  Alexander  had  not  run 
So  wide  a  round  of  pleasures  as  you  of  sins ; 
And  yet  he  offered  kingdoms  for  a  new  one. 
You  must  invoke  Asmodeus,  not  Beelzebub. 

Man. 
What 's  he  ? 

Ber. 

The  devil  specially  charged  with  love  ; 
He  has  more  work  than  all  the  infernal  legion. 
There  's  Malatesta's  wife ;  she  's  young,  and  fair, 
And  good,  they  say ;  rare  matter  for  sin  there, 
Though  't  is  the  oldest  of  them  all. 

Man. 
But  show  me 

How  to  win  her !     She  's  cold  as  she  is  fair. 
I  have  spent  enough  sweet  speech  to  have  softened  stone, 
And  all  in  vain. 

Ber. 

The  monks  say  Hannibal 

Melted  the  rocks  with  vinegar,  not  sugar. 

Man. 
But  she  is  adamant. 

Ber. 

When  all  else  fails 

You  've  still  force  to  fall  back  on.     Carry  her  off, 

From  under  Guido's  grizzled  beard. 

Man. 
By  Bacchus, 
There  's  mettle  in  thy  counsel,  knave !  I  '11  think  on  't. 

[  Crosses  to  R.  and  sits. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  19 

Ber. 

It  needs  no  brains,  neither ;  only  strong  hands 
And  hard  hearts.     Here  come  both. 

[Enter  Torelli,  Ascolti,  and  Ordelaffi  L.  U.  E. 

Man. 
What  say  you,  gentlemen  :  may  I  trust  your  arms  ? 

Tor. 
They  're  yours  in  any  quarrel. 

Asc. 
So  are  mine ! 

Ord. 
And  mine ! 

Ber. 

One  at  a  time.     You  said  "  arms ;  "  —  of  Torelli 

You  should  ask  legs ;  his  did  such  famous  service 

In  carrying  him  out  of  danger  at  Sarzana, 

I  think  they  may  be  trusted.         [All  laugh,  except  Torelli 

Tor. 
Scurril  knave ; 
But  I  '11  be  even  with  thee. 

Ber. 

That  were  pity. 

A  hump  would  be  a  sore  disfigurement 

Upon  a  back  that  you  're  so  fond  of  showing ! 

Asc. 
This  rogue  needs  gagging. 

Ber. 

What,  for  speaking  truth  ? 

I  cry  you  mercy,  I  forgot  how  ugly 

It  must  sound  to  a  Florentine  Ambassador. 

[All  laugh  except  Ascolti. 


20  THE    FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

Man. 
Well  thrust,  Bertuccio ! 

Ord. 
My  lord,  my  lord ! 
The  slave  is  paid  to  find  us  wit 

Ber. 
Hold  there. 

No  man  is  bound  to  impossibilities, 
'T  is  a  known  maxim  of  the  Roman  law ; 
How  then  can  I  find  wit  for  Ordelaffi  ? 

[All  laugh  but  Ordelaffi. 
But  look,  there  's  Serafino,  big  with  a  sonnet : 

\DelV  Aquila  passes  across  the  terrace  c.  and  dis- 
appears. 
I  must  help  him  to  reason  for  his  rhymes [Going  c. 

Man. 
Stay! 

Ber. 

Not  I !     You  're  for  finding  out  new  sins ; 
With  three  such  councillors,  I  am  superfluous. 

[  The  three  lords  cross  to  Manfredi  r. 
The  evil  seed  is  sown ;  't  will  grow,  't  will  grow.       [Aside. 

[Exit  Bertuccio  c. 
Tor. 
Toad! 

Asc. 
Foul-mouthed  scoffer ! 

Ord. 
Warped  in  wit  and  limb ! 

Asc. 

My  lord,  you  give  your  monkey  too  much  rope. 

Man. 

Nay,  give  the  devil  his  due ;  if  he  hits  hard, 

He  hits  impartially.     I  take  my  share 

Of  buffets  with  the  rest.     Best  cure  the  smart 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  21 

By  laughing  at  your  neighbour  that  smarts  worse. 

But,  about  this  business,  where  your  arms  may  help  me. 

Asc. 
Is  it  an  enemy  to  be  silenced  ? 

Ord. 

A  castle 

To  be  surprised  ?     A  merchant  to  be  squeezed  ? 

Asc. 

Or  aught  in  which  ducats  or  brains  of  Florence 
Can  help? 

Man. 

No.    Who  was  queen  of  the  feast  to-night  ? 
In  your  skilled  judgment,  Messer  Gian  Maria  ? 

Ord. 

I  ought  to  say  your  duchess,  fair  Francesca ; 
But,  if  another  tongue  had  asked  the  question 

Man. 
Speak  out  thy  honest  judgment ! 

Ord. 

Not  a  lady 

In  all  Faenza  's  worthy  to  compare 

With  proud  Ginevra  Malatesta  ! 

Tor. 
I  think  I  know  a  fairer, —  but  no  matter ! 

Man. 

I  hold  with  Ordelaffi.     I  have  mounted 
Ginevra's  colours  in  my  cap,  and  heart ; 
But  she  's  too  proud,  or  fearful  of  old  Guido, 
To  smile  upon  my  suit.     'T  is  the  first  time 
I  've  found  so  coy  a  dame. 


22  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Asc. 

Trust  one  who  knows  them, 

The  coyest  are  not  always  chastest. 

Man. 

How  say  you,  if  I  spared  her  shame  of  yielding 
By  a  night  escalade  ? 

Ord.                [Shaking  his  head. 
Carry  her  off? 
A  Malatesta  !     Were  it  an  enemy's  town 

Man. 

Hear  him  !  how  modestly  he  talks  !     Why,  man, 
Since  when  shrank'st  thou  from  climbing  balconies, 
And  forcing  doors  without  an  invitation  ? 

Ord. 

O,  citizens',  I  grant  you ;  but  a  noble's, 
One  of  ourselves 

Asc. 
Remember,  Malatesta 
Is  cousin  to  the  old  lord  of  Cesena : 
The  affair  might  breed  a  feud,  and  so  let  in 
The  sly  Venetian. 

Tor. 
Be  advised,  my  lord ; 

If  you  must  breathe  your  new-fledged  liberty, 
Try  safer  game.     Old  Malatesta's  horns 
Might  prove  too  sharp  for  pastime. 

Man. 
Out,  you  faint  hearts, 

Do  you  fall  off?     Then,  by  Saint  Francis'  bones, 
I  and  Bertuccio  will  adventure  it. 

Tor. 

Bertuccio !     My  jewel  to  his  hump, 

'T  was  he  put  this  mad  frolic  in  your  head. 


THE   FOOL'S    REVENGE.  23 

Man. 

And  if  it  were  ?     At  least  he  '11  stand  by  me. 
Perchance  his  wits  may  be  worth  all  your  brawn. 

Asc. 

Here  comes  one  who  may  claim  to  be  consulted 

Upon  this  business.  [Enter  Malatesta  r.  i.  e. 

Man. 
Guido  Malatesta ! 

Why,  how  now,  count  ?     You  left  our  feast  so  soon, 
I  thought  you  i'  the  sheets  this  good  half  hour. 

Mai. 

I  had  forgot  my  duty  to  your  lordship ; 
So  now  repair  my  lack  of  courtesy  : 
To-morrow  I  purpose  riding  to  Cesena, 
And  would  not  go  without  due  leave-taking. 

Man.  [Aside. 

This  jumps  well  with  my  project. 

What,  to-morrow !  [To  Malatesta. 

You  ride  alone  ? 

Mai. 
No,  with  my  wife. 

Man. 
The  devil !  [Aside. 

Why  this  is  sudden ;  she  spoke  no  word  of  this 

[  To  Malatesta. 
To-night. 

Mai. 

Tush  !  women  know  not  their  own  minds ; 
How  should  they  know  their  husbands'  ? 

Man. 
But  your  reason  ? 


24  THE   FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

Mai. 

Your  air  here  in  Faenza  is  too  warm, 

And  scarce  so  pure  as  fits  my  wife's  complexion ; 

She  '11  be  better  in  my  castle  at  Cesena ; 

The  walls  are  five  feet  thick,  and  from  the  platform 

There  's  a  rare  view.     She  '11  need  no  exercise. 

Man. 
The  jailer !  {Aside 

But  what  says  the  lady's  will  ?  [To  Malatesta. 

Mai. 

I  never  ask  that ;  and  so  'scape  all  risk 
Of  finding  it  run  counter  to  my  own. 

Man. 
Faenza  will  have  great  miss  of  you  both. 

Mai. 

O,  fear  not,  I  '11  return ;  your  wine  's  too  good 
To  be  left  lightly.     I  '11  be  back  to-morrow, 
Before  the  gates  are  shut.     Meanwhile  accept 
This  leave-taking  by  proxy  from  my  wife. 

Man. 

Not  so ;  I  must  exchange  farewell  with  her 
To-morrow. 

Mai. 

We  shall  start  an  hour  ere  dawn ; 
You  '11  scarce  be  stirring. 

Man. 
Plague  upon  the  churl !  [Aside. 

He  meets  me  at  all  points.     At  least,  I  hope, 
This  absence  of  your  wife  will  not  be  long ; 
My  duchess  cannot  spare  her. 
Saints  forgive  me !  [Aside. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  25 

Mai. 

When  your  fair  lady  wants  her,  she  can  send : 

I  '11  answer  for  her  coming  on  that  summons. 

Good-night,  sweet  lords. 

How  crest-fallen  he  looks  !  \Aside. 

Mass  !  't  is  ill  cozening  an  old  campaigner  ! 

Did  he  think  I  had  forgot  to  guard  my  baggage  ? 

I  Exit  Malatesta. 
Man. 

A  murrain  go  with  him !     May  the  horse  stumble 
That  carries  him,  and  break  his  old  bull-neck ! 
O,  this  is  cruel ;  with  my  hand  stretched  out 
To  have  to  draw  't  back  empty.     I  could  curse ! 

Tor. 

What  if  I  helped  you  to  a  substitute 

For  coy  Ginevra  ?  passing  her  in  beauty : 

One,  too,  whose  conquest  puts  no  crown  to  risk, 

And  helps  withal  a  notable  requital 

That  we  all  owe  Bertuccio,  you  included. 

Man. 
What  mean  you  ? 

Tor. 
Guess  what  's  happened  to  Bertuccio. 

Ord. 
He  's  grown  good-natured. 

Asc. 
Or  has  dropped  his  hump. 

Man. 
He  has  found  a  monkey  uglier  than  himself. 

Tor. 

No,  something  stranger  than  all  these  would  be, 
If  they  had  happened.     He  has  found  a  mistress ! 

[All  laugh. 


26  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Man. 

My  lady's  pet  baboon  ?  Bertuccio 

Graced  with  a  mistress  !  [He  laughs. 

Asc. 
She  is  blind,  of  course  ? 

Ord. 
And  has  a  hump,  I  hope,  to  match  his  own  ? 

Man. 

Bertuccio  with  a  mistress  !  why  the  rogue 

Ne'er  yet  made  joke  so  monstrous,  or  so  pleasant. 

[All  laugh. 

Tor. 

Laugh  as  you  please,  sirs ;  on  my  knightly  faith, 
He  has  a  mistress,  and  a  rare  one  too. 
Nay,  if  you  doubt  my  word  —  here  comes  Dell'  Aquila, 
He  knows  as  well  as  I. 

Man. 
We  11  question  him. 

[Enter  Serafino  Dell'  Aquila  c. 

Man. 
Good  even  to  my  poet — you  walk  late  ! 

Aqu.  [Pointing  to  the  moon. 

I  tend  my  mistress:  poets  and  lunatics, 
You  know,  are  her  liege  subjects. 

Man. 
They  are  happy. 

Aqu. 
Why? 

Man. 

They  have  a  new  mistress  every  month. 
But  jesters  can  find  mistresses,  it  seems, 
As  well  as  poets.     There  's  Torelli  swears 
Bertuccio  has  one,  and  that  you  know  it. 


THE    FOOLS    REVENGE.  27 

Aqu. 

I  know  he  has  a  rare  maid,  close  mewed  up, 
But  whether  wife  or  daughter 

Man. 
Tell  not  me! 

A  mistress  for  a  thousand !     But  what  of  her  ? 
How  did  you  find  her  out  ? 

Aqu. 
'T  was  some  weeks  since, 
Attending  vespers  in  your  house's  chapel, 
At  San  Costanza,  I  beheld  a  maiden 
Kneeling  before  that  picture  of  our  lady, 
By  Fra  Filippo :  — ■  O,  so  fair,  so  rapt 
In  her  pure  passionate  prayers  !  — I  tell  you,  sirs, 
I  was  nigh  going  on  my  knees  beside  her, 
And  asking  for  an  interest  in  her  orisons : 
Such  eyes !  and  such  a  brow — crowned  with  such  wreaths 
Of  glossy  hair  !  and  then,  her  cheeks  of  snow, 
Flushed  tenderly,  as  when  the  sunlight  strikes 
Upon  an  evening  Alp !  and  over  all, 
A  grace  of  maiden  modesty  that  lay 
More  still  and  snowy  round  her  than  the  folds 
Of  her  white  veil !     And  when  she  rose  I  rose 
And  followed  her,  like  one  drawn  by  a  charm, 
To  a  mean  house,  where  entering,  she  was  lost. 

Man. 
She  was  alone  ? 

Aqu. 
Only  a  shrewish  servant 
That  saw  her  to  the  church,  and  saw  her  home. 

Man. 
A  most  weak  wolf-dog  for  so  choice  a  lamb  ! 

Aqu. 

Methought,  my  lord,  she  needed  no  more  guard 
Than  the  innocence  that  sat,  dove-like,  in  her  eyes, 


28 


THE    FOOLS    REVENGE. 


That  shaped  the  folding  of  her  delicate  hands, 
And  timed  the  movement  of  her  gentle  feet. 

Man. 
You  spoke  to  her  ? 

Aqa. 

I  dared  not ;  some  strange  shame 

Put  weight  upon  my  tongue.     I  only  watched  her, 

And  sometimes  heard  her  speak.     That  was  enough. 

Man. 
Poets  are  easy  satisfied.     Well,  you  watched  ? 

Aqu. 

And  then  I  found  that  I  was  not  alone 
Upon  my  nightly  post :  there  were  two  more ; 
One  stayed  outside,  like  me,  and  one  went  in. 

Tor. 

True  to  the  letter !  I  was  the  outsider, 
The  third,  and  luckiest,  was  Bertuccio ! 

Man. 
The  hump-backed  hypocrite ! 

Ord. 

The  owl  that  screeched 
The  loudest  against  women  ! 

Asc. 
But,  is  't  certain 
That  't  was  Bertuccio  ? 

Tor. 
I  can  swear  to  that. 

Aqu. 
And  I. 

Asc. 
How  did  you  know  him  ? 


THE    FOOL  S    REVENGE. 

Tor. 
By  his  hump, 

His  gait;  who  could  mistake  that  crab-like  walk? 
I  could  have  knocked  my  head  against  the  wall 
To  think  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  trust 
A  woman's  looks  for  once.     Dell'  Aquila, 
I  know,  holds  other  faith  about  the  sex. 

Aqu. 

I  would  stake  life  upon  her  purity  ; 

Yet,  't  is  past  doubt  Bertuccio  is  the  man, 

The  ugly  jailer  of  this  prisoned  bird. 

Man. 

Why  that  's  enough  to  make  it  a  mere  duty 
To  break  her  prison-house,  and  shift  her  keeping 
To  fitter  hands, —  say  mine.     I  'm  lord  of  the  town; 
None  else  has  right  of  prison  here  but  I. 

Aqu. 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Man. 
First  see  if  she  bears  out 
Your  picture,  Serafino ;  if  she  do, 
Be  sure  I  will  not  wait  outside  to  mark 
Her  shadow.     Shadows  may  suit  poets ; 
I  want  substance. 

Tor. 

She  is  for  Bertuccio's  master, 

Not  for  Bertuccio.     When  shall  it  be  ? 

Man. 
To-morrow 
I  'm  a  free  man  !     Meet  me  at  midnight,  here. 

Aqu. 

You  would  not  harm  her  ?     Only  see  her  face, 
You  will  not  have  the  heart  to  do  her  wrong. 


30  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Man. 

What  call  you  "  wrong  "  ?     To  save  so  choice  a  creature 

From  such  a  guardian  as  Bertuccio  ? 

He  would  have  prompted  me  to  play  the  robber 

Of  Malatesta's  pearl :  let  him  guard  his  own. 

\Aquila  goes  up  stage. 

Ord. 

If  he  resists,  we  '11  knock  him  o'er  the  sconce ; 
Let  me  have  that  part  of  the  business. 

Man. 

Nay,  I  'd  not  have  the  rascal  harmed ;  he  's  bitter, 
But  shrewedly  witty,  and  he  makes  me  laugh. 
No,  spare  me  my  buffoon :  who  does  him  harm, 
Shall  answer  it  to  me. 

Tor. 

'T  were  a  rare  plot  to  make  the  knave  believe 
Our  scheme  still  held  against  old  Malatesta : 
That  his  Ginevra  was  the  game  we  followed. 

Ord. 

So  give  him  a  rendezvous  a  mile  away ; 

And,  while  he  waits  our  coming,  to  break  open 

The  mew  where  he  keeps  close  his  tercel  gentle. 

Asc.  [Aside  to  Manfredi. 

Ne'er  trust  a  poet.     What  if  he  betray  us  ? 

Man. 

He  's  truth  itself;  and  where  he  gives  his  faith, 
'T  is  better  than  a  bond  of  your  Lorenzo's. 

Asc. 
Swear  him  to  secrecy. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  31 

Man. 

\  To  DelV   Aquila,  who  adva7ices. 
Your  hand  upon  it. 

You  '11  not  spoil  our  sport,  by  breaking  to  Bertuccio 
What  we  intend  ? 

Aqu. 

But  think,  O,  think,  my  lord, 

What  if  this  were  no  mistress  ;  as,  if  looks 

Have  privilege  to  reveal  the  soul,  she  is  none  ? 

Man. 

Mistress,  or  maid,  man,  I  will  not  be  baulked; 
'T  is  for  her  good.     I  know  the  sex ;  she  pines 
In  her  captivity  :   I  '11  find  a  cage 
More  fitting  such  a  bird  as  you  've  described. 
Your  hand  on  't :  not  a  whisper  to  Bertuccio ! 

Aqu. 

You  force  me.     There  's  my  hand  :   I  will  not  speak 
A  word  to  him. 

Man.  [  Taking  his  hand. 

That  's  like  a  trusty  liegeman 

Of  blind  Lord  Cupid. 

Hark,  a  word  with  you !         [  To  the  others.      They  retire  c. 

Aqu.  [Aside. 

I  '11  save  her  from  this  wrong,  or  lose  myself. 
What  tie  there  is  betwixt  these  two  I  know  not ; 
How  one  so  fair  and  seeming  gentle  's  linked 
With  one  so  foul  and  bitter, —  a  buffoon, 
Who  makes  his  vile  vocation  viler  still, 
By  prompting  to  the  evil  that  he  mocks. 
But  I  will  'gage  my  life  that  she  is  pure. 
And  still  shall  be  so,  if  my  aid  avail ! 

[Exit  l.  i .  E. 


32  THE    FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

Man. 

[Advancing  with  his  companions. 

But  how  to  get  sight  of  Bertuccio's  jewel  ? 
I  'd  see  before  I  'd  seize. 

Tor. 

Trust  me  for  that ! 

I  am  no  poet.     When  I  found  the  damsel 

Admitted  such  a  gallant  as  Bertuccio, 

I  thought  it  time  to  press  my  suit ;  and  so 

Accosted  her  on  her  way  from  San  Costanza  — — 

Man. 
She  listened  ? 

Tor. 

Long  enough — the  little  fool — 

To  learn  my  meaning;  then  she  flushed,  and  fled; 

I  followed,  when,  as  the  foul  fiend  would  have  it, 

Ginevra  Malatesta,  coming  by 

From  vespers  with  her  train,  sheltered  the  pigeon, 

And  spoiled  my  chase. 

Man. 
You  did  not  give  it  up  ? 

Tor. 

I  changed  my  plan ;  the  mistress  being  coy, 
I  spread  my  net  to  catch  the  maid.     O,  lord ! 
The  veriest  Gorgon  !     You  might  swear  none  e'er 
Had  given  her  chase  before!  no  coyness  there; 
A  small  expense  of  oaths  and  coin  sufficed 
To  make  her  think  herself  a  misprized  Venus, 
And  me  the  most  discriminating  wooer 
In  all  Faenza.     'T  will  not  need  much  art 
For  me  to  win  an  entrance  to  the  house ; 
And  when  I  'm  in,  it  shall  go  hard,  my  lord, 
But  I  '11  find  means  to  get  you  access  too. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  33 

Man. 

About  it  straight;  at  dusk  to-morrow  night 
Be  here,  armed,  masked  and  cloaked. 

Ord. 

While  poor  Bertuccio 

Awaits  our  coming  near  San  Stefano  ! 

A  stone's  throw  from  the  casa  Malatesta. 

Asc. 
He  's  here ! 

[Enter  Bertuccio,  c. — Manfredi  in  the  cefitre, 
Ascoltiat  his  left,  Torelli  at  his  right ;  Ordelaffi 
r.  corner. 

Ber. 
Not  yet  a-bed ! 

Since  when  were  the  fiend's  eggs  so  hard  to  hatch  ? 
I  left  a  pleasant  little  germ  of  sin 
Some  half  an  hour  since :  it  should  be  full-grown 
By  this  time.     Is  it  ? 

Man. 

Winged,  and  hoofed,  and  tailed. 
If  proud  Ginevra  Malatesta  sleep 
To-morrow  night  beneath  old  Guido's  roof, 
Then  call  me  a  snow-water-blooded  shaveling. 

Ber. 
Ha !     'T  is  resolved,  then  ? 

Tor. 

We  have  pledged  our  faith 

To  carry  off  the  fairest  in  Faenza 

Asc. 
Before  the  stroke  of  midnight. 
3 


34  THE  fool's  revenge. 

Ord. 
'T  was  my  plan 

To  gather  one  by  one  to  the  place  of  action; 
Lest,  going  in  a  troop,  we  might  awake 
Suspicion,  and  put  Guido  on  his  guard. 

Ber. 

A  wise  precaution,  although  it  was  yours. 

I  wronged  you,  gentlemen ;  I  thought  you  shrunk 

Even  from  sin,  when  there  was  danger  in  't. 

It  seems  there  are  deeds  black  enough  to  make 

Even  Torelli  brave,  Ascolti  prompt, 

And  Ordelaffi  witty.     But  the  place  ? 


Beside  San  Stefano. 
The  hour  of  meeting  ? 


Man. 
Ber. 

Man. 


Half  an  hour  after  vespers.     There  await  us. 

And  now,  good  rest  my  lords ;  the  night  wanes  fast, 

My  duchess  will  be  weary.  [All  laugh. 

All. 
Sir,  good-night !  [Going. — Exit  Ma?ifredi  c. 

Ber. 

Sleep  well,  Torelli.     Dream  of  charging  home 
In  the  van  of  some  fierce  fight. 

Tor. 
My  common  dream.  [Crosses  to  l. 

Ber. 

'T  is  natural ;  dreams  go  by  contraries. 
And  you,  Ascolti,  dream  of  telling  truth ; 
And,  Ordelaffi,  that  you  have  grown  wise. 


the  fool's  revenge.  35 

Tor. 
And  you,  that  your  back  's  straight,  your  legs  a  match. 

Asc. 
And  your  tongue  tipped  with  honey. 

Ord. 
Come,  my  lords,  [Crosses  to  l. 

Leave  him  to  spit  his  venom  at  the  moon, 
As  they  say  toads  do ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Bertuccio,  laughing,  L.  i.  e. 

Ber. 

Take  my  curse  among  you, 
Fair,  false,  big,  brainless,  outside  shows  of  men ! 
For  once  your  gibes  and  jeers  fall  pointless  from  me. 
My  great  revenge  is  nigh,  and  drowns  all  sense : 
Vengeance  swells  out  my  veins,  and  lifts  my  head, 
And  makes  me  terrible !     Come,  sweet  to-morrow, 
And  put  my  enemy's  heart  into  my  hand, 
That  I  may  gnaw  it ! 

CURTAIN. 


S»cene  first. 


%ct  J>econfc« 

Second  Night. 

'"  Faenza.  A  Room  in  Bertuccio's  House. 
The  Walls  are  hung  with  Tapestry, 
which  conceals  a  small  recess  and 
also  a  Secret  Door  communicating 
with  a  private  Stair-way.  A  Win- 
dow, opening  on  the  Street,  with  a 
Balcony.  A  Lute  and  Flowers  on 
Table.  A  Lamp,  lighted.  Bell 
strikes  the  Quarter.  Torelli  and 
Brigitta  discovered. 

Bri. 
Hark,  there  's  the  quarter!  you  must  hence,  fair  signor. 

Tor. 

But  a  few  moments  more  of  your  sweet  presence  ? 

Bri. 

Saint  Ursula,  she  knows,  't  is  not  my  will 
That  drives  you  hence ;  but  if  my  master  found 
That  I  received  a  man  into  the  house, 
'T  were  pity  of  my  place,  if  not  my  life. 

Tor. 

Your  master  is  a  churl,  that  would  condemn 
These  maiden  blooms  to  wither  on  the  tree. 

Bri. 

Churl  you  may  call  him !  why  he  'd  have  the  house 

A  prison.     If  you  heard  the  coil  he  keeps 

Of  bolts,  and  bars,  and  locks !     Lord  knows  the  twitter 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  37 

I  've  been  in  all  to-day,  about  the  key 

I  lost  this  morning ;  it  unlocks  the  door 

Of  yonder  stair  that  leads  down  to  the  street. 

Tor. 
'T  was  lucky  I  came  by  just  when  you  dropt  it. 

Bri. 

Dropt !  nay,  signor,  't  was  whipped  off  by  some  cut-purse, 
That  thought  to  filch  my  coin. 

Tor. 
That  's  a  shrewd  guess ! 

He  must  have  flung  it  from  him  where  I  found  it, 
Not  knowing  of  what  jewel  it  unlocked 
The  casket ! 

Bri. 
How  can  I  pay  your  pains  that  brought  it  back ! 

Tor. 

By  ever  and  anon  giving  me  leave 

To  come  and  sun  myself  in  your  chaste  presence. 

Bri. 
Alas,  sweet  signor ! 

Tor. 
O !  divine  Brigitta ! 

Bri. 

But,  I  must  say  farewell.     Vespers  are  over ; 
My  mistress  will  be  waiting,  she  's  so  fearful. 

Tor. 

As  if  her  unripe  beauties  were  in  danger, 
While  your  maturer  loveliness  can  walk 
The  streets  unguarded. 

Bri. 

Nay,  I  'm  a  poor,  fond,  thing !  Lord  knows  the  risk 
I  run  to  let  you  in. 


38  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Tor. 
I  warrant  now 

You  've  some  snug  nook  where,  if  your  master  came, 
You  could  bestow  me  at  a  pinch. 

Bri. 
I  know  none, 
Unless  't  were  here,  behind  the  arras;  look! 

[Lifting  arras  from  the  recess 
Here  's  a  hole  too,  whence  you  could  peep  to  see 
When  the  coast 's  clear ! 

Tor. 

There  's  room  enough  for  two.  [Aside. 

Brigitta ! 

Bri. 
Signor! 

Tor. 
How  if  this  had  served 
For  hiding  others,  before  me? 

Bri. 
I  swear 
By  the  eleven  thousand  virgins 

Tor. 
That  's 

Too  many  by  ten  thousand  and  nine  hundred 
And  ninety-nine !     Vouch  but  your  virgin  self, 
And  I  am  satisfied ! 

Bri. 
Alack,  a-day ! 
To  be  suspected  after  all  these  years. 

Tor. 

Pardon  a  lover's  jealousy ;  this  kiss 

Shall  wipe  away  the  memory  of  my  wrong. 

What  will  not  loyalty  drive  a  man  to  ?  [Aside. 

There !  [Kisses  her. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  39 

Bri.  [Aside. 

He  has  the  sweetest  lips !     And  now  begone, 
Sweet  signor,  if  you  love  me. 

Tor. 
"  If,"  Brigitta ! 

Banish  me  then  to  outer  darkness  straight ! 
Farewell,  my  full-blown  rose !  let  others  prize 
The  opening  bud ;  the  ripe,  rich  flower  for  me ! 

Bri. 

O,  the  saints,  how  he  talks !     This  way,  sweet  signor. 

[  Taking  a  key  from  her  girdle. 
The  secret  door ;  the  key  you  found  and  brought  me 
Unlocks  it.  [  Unlocking  secret  door,  in  recess. 

Tor. 

[  Taking  another  from  his  girdle — aside. 

Else,  why  did  I  filch  it  from  you, 

And  have  this,  its  twin  brother,  forged  to-day  ? 

Bri.  [  Taking  the  lamp. 

I  '11  light  you  out,  and  lock  the  door  behind  you. 
"  Safe  bind,  safe  find." 

Tor. 

Good-night,  sweet  piece  of  woman, 

I  leave  my  heart  in  pledge. 

Now  for  the  duke.  [Aside. 

[Brigitta  holds  open  the  door. — Exit  Tore  Hi. — 
She  lights  him  down  and  then  closes  and  locks 
the  door. 

Bri. 

He  's  gone,  bless  his  sweet  face !     To  think  what  risks 
Men  will  run  that  are  lovers,  and  indeed 
Weak  women,  too  !     Lord  !  if  my  master  knew. 
'T  is  lucky  San  Costanza  is  hard  by, 
I  should  be  fearful  else.     Faenza  's  full 


4-0  THE    FOOLS    REVENGE. 

Of  gallants,  and  who  knows  what  might  befall 
A  poor  young  woman  like  myself,  with  nought 
Except  her  innocence  to  be  her  safeguard  !    [Exit  r.  i.e. 

[As  soon  as  she  has  closed  the  door   Torelli  re- 
enters, with  Manfredi,from  recess. 

Tor. 
This  way,  my  lord :  the  dragon  has  departed. 

Man. 
'T  is  time ;  I  was  aweary  of  my  watch. 

Tor. 

You  were  alone,  at  least.     Think  of  my  lot, 
That  had  to  make  love  to  a  tough  old  spinster. 
I  would  we  had  changed  parts.     Why,  good  my  lord 
I  had  to  kiss  her.     Faugh  !  when  shall  I  get 
The  garlic  from  my  beard  ?     But  here  's  the  cage 
That  holds  our  bird.     We  must  ensconce  ourselves, 
For  they  '11  be  here  anon ;  vespers  were  over 
Before  we  entered. 

Man. 
Thanks  to  your  device 

Of  the  forged  key.     Yet  that  was  scarcely  needed ; 
I  've  climbed  more  break-neck  balconies  than  that 

[Pointing  to  window. 
Without  a  silken  ladder.     So,  a  lute,         [Looking  around. 
A  missal,  flowers  !  more  tokens  of  a  maid 
Than  of  a  mistress.     Well,  so  much  the  better ; 
I  long  to  see  the  girl.     Is  she  as  fair 
As  Serafmo  painted  ? 

Tor. 
Faith,  my  lord, 

She  's  fair  enough  to  justify  more  sonnets 
Than  e'er  fat  Petrarch  pumped  out  for  his  Laura. 
She  is  a  paragon  of  blushing  girlhood, 
Full  of  temptation  to  the  finger-tips. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  4 1 

I  marvel  at  myself,  that  e'er  I  yielded 
This  amourous  enterprize,  even  to  you ; 
But  that  my  loyalty  outbears  my  love. 

Man. 

I  will  requite  your  loyalty,  fear  not ; 
But  where  shall  we  bestow  ourselves  ? 

Tor. 
In  here ;  {Lifting  the  arras. 

The  old  crone  showed  it  me  but  now — there  's  cover 
And  peeping-place  sufficient.     Hark!  they  come: 
Stand  close,  my  lord.  [  They  retire  behind  the  arras. 

{Enter  Fiordelisa  and  Brigitta  R.  i.  E. 

Bri. 
And  he  was  there  to-night  ? 

Fio. 

0  yes !     He  offered  me  the  holy  water 
As  I  passed  in.     I  trembled  so,  Brigitta, 

When  our  hands  met,  I  fear  he  must  have  marked  it, 
But  that  he  seemed  almost  as  trembling,  too, 
As  I  was. 

Bri. 
He !  a  brazen  popinjay, 

1  '11  warrant  me,  for  all  his  downcast  looks ! 
I  wonder  how  my  master  would  endure 
To  hear  of  such  audacious  goings  on ! 

Fio. 

That  makes  me  sad.     My  father  is  so  kind, 
I  cannot  bear  to  have  a  secret  from  him. 
Sometimes  I  feel  as  I  would  tell  him  all ; 
But  then,  I  think,  perhaps  he  would  forbid  me 
From  going  out  to  church ;  and  't  is  so  dull 
To  be  shut  up  here  all  the  long  bright  day : 
From  morn  till  dark  to  mark  the  busy  stir 
Under  the  window,  and  the  happy  voices 


42  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Of  holiday-makers,  that  go  out  and  in 
Just  as  they  please.     Look  at  the  birds,  Brigitta ! 
Their  wings  are  free,  yet  no  harm  comes  to  them; 
I  'm  sure  they  're  innocent !     And  then  to  hear 
Sometimes  the  trumpets,  as  the  knights  ride  by, 

And  tramp  of  armed  men,  sometimes  a  lute 

[A  lute  sounds  outside. 
Hark,  't  is  his  lute !     I  know  the  air ;  how  sweet ! 
My  good  Brigitta,  would  there  be  much  harm 
If  I  touched  mine — only  a  little  touch — 
To  tell  him  I  am  listening  ? 

Bri. 
Holy  saints, 

Was  e'er  such  boldness !     I  must  have  your  lute 
Locked  up.     These  girls  !  these  girls ! 
Bar  them  from  court, 
And  they  '11  find  matter  in  church  ; 
Keep  them  from  speech, 

And  they  '11  make  cat-gut  do  the  work  of  tongue ! 
Better  be  charged  to  keep  a  cat  from  cream, 
Than  a  girl  from  gallants !  [Lute  ceases. 


Nay,  but,  good  Brigitta, 
This  gentleman  is  none. 


How  do  you  know  ? 


Fio. 


Bri. 


Fio. 


He  never  speaks  to  me,  scarce  looks,  or  if 
He  do,  it  is  but  to  withdraw  his  gaze 
As  hastily  as  I  do  mine.     I  've  seen  him 
Blush  when  our  eyes  met ;  not  like  yon  rude  man, 
Who  pressed  upon  me  with  such  words  and  looks 
As  made  me  blush  —  you  know  the  time — 
When  that  kind  lady,  Countess  Malatesta, 
Scarce  saved  me  from  his  boldness. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  43 

Bri. 
Tilly-vally ! 

There  are  more  ways  of  bird-catching  than  one ; 
He  's  the  best  fowler  who  least  scares  his  quarry. 
But  I  must  go  and  see  the  supper  toward. 
Your  father  will  be  here  anon.  [Exit  l.  i.  e. 

Fio. 
Dear  father ! 

Would  he  were  here,  that  I  might  rest  my  head 
Upon  his  breast,  and  have  his  arms  about  me ; 
For  then  I  feel  there  's  something  I  may  love, 
And  not  be  chidden  for  it.  [Lute  sounds. 

Hark !  again ! 
If  I  durst  answer ! 

How  sad  he  must  be,  out  there  in  the  dark, 
Not  knowing  if  I  mark  his  music. 

[  Takes  her  lute,  then  puts  it  away. 
No! 

My  father  would  be  angry  :  sad  enough 
To  have  one  joy  I  may  not  share  with  him ; 
Yet  there  can  be  no  harm  in  listening. 
I  thought  to-night  he  would  have  spoken  to  me, 
But  then  Brigitta  came,  and  he  fell  back. 
I  'm  glad  he  did  not  speak,  and  yet  I  'm  sorry ; 
I  should  so  like  to  hear  his  voice — just  once!  — 

He  comes  in  my  dreams,  now,  but  he  never  speaks 

[Late  ceases. 
I  'm  sure  't  is  soft  and  sweet !  [Listening. 

His  lute  is  hushed. 

What  if  I  touched  mine,  now  that  he  is  gone  ? 
I  must  not  look  out  of  the  casement ! — Yes, 
I  'm  sure  he  's  gone !  [  Takes  her  lute  and  sings. 

[Note. — Song  may  be  given  or  omitted  at  pleasure. .] 

Man.       [Aside,  lifting  the  arras. 
She  is  worth  ten  Ginevras! 


44  THE    FOOL  S    REVENGE. 

Tor.  [Holding  him  back. 

Not  yet ! 

Man. 
Unhand  me,  I  will  speak  to  her ! 

Tor. 

My  lord !     It  is  Bertuccio !     In,  quick ! 

[Bertuccio  appears  at  the  door  r.  i .  e. —  His  dress 
is  sober  and  his  manner  composed. —  He  stands 
for  a  moment  at  the  door  fondly  contemplating 
Fiordelisa  ;  then  steps  quietly  forward. 

Ber. 
My  own ! 

Bio. 

[  Turning  suddenly  and  flinging  herself  into   his 
arms — 
My  father ! 

Ber. 
Closer,  closer  yet ! 

Let  me  feel  those  soft  arms  about  my  neck, 
This  dear  cheek  on  my  heart !     No,  do  not  stir, 
It  does  me  so  much  good  !     I  am  so  happy ; 
These  minutes  are  worth  years. 

Bio. 
My  own  dear  father ! 

Ber. 

Let  me  look  at  thee,  darling.     Why,  thou  growest 
More  and  more  beautiful !     Thou  'rt  happy  here  ? 
Hast  all  that  thou  desirest,  thy  lute,  thy  flowers  ? 
She  loves  her  poor  old  father  ?     Blessings  on  thee, 
1  know  thou  dost,  but  tell  me  so. 

[Bertuccio  sits.     Fiordelisa  kneels  beside  him. 

Bio. 
I  love  you, 
I  love  you  very  much !     I  am  so  happy 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  45 

When  you  are  with  me.     Why  do  you  come  so  late, 
And  go  so  soon  ?     Why  not  stay  always  here  ? 

Ber. 

Why  not !  why  not !     O,  if  I  could !     To  live 
Where  there  's  no  mocking,  and  no  being  mocked, 
No  laughter,  but  what  's  innocent ;  no  mirth 
That  leaves  an  after-bitterness  like  gall. 

Fio. 

Now  you  are  sad !     There  's  that  black,  ugly  cloud 
Upon  your  brow ;  you  promised,  the  last  time, 
It  never  should  come  when  we  were  together. 
You  know  when  you  're  sad  I  'm  sad  too. 

Ber. 

My  bird ! 

I  'm  selfish  even  with  thee ;  let  dark  thoughts  come, 
That  thy  sweet  voice  may  chase  them,  as  they  say 
The  blessed  church-bells  drive  the  demons  off. 

Fio. 

If  I  but  knew  the  reason  of  your  sadness, 

Then  I  might  comfort  you ;  but  I  know  nothing, 

Not  even  your  name. 

Ber. 
I  have  no  name  for  thee, 
But  "  father." 

Fio. 
In  the  convent,  at  Cesena, 

Where  I  was  reared,  they  used  to  call  me  orphan. 
I  thought  I  had  no  father,  till  you  came, 
And  then  they  needed  not  to  say  I  had  one; 
My  own  heart  told  me  that. 

Ber. 
I  often  think 

I  had  done  well  to  have  left  thee  there,  in  the  peace 
Of  that  still  cloister :  but  it  was  too  hard  — 
My  empty  heart  so  hungered  for  my  child ; 


4.6  the  fool's  revenge. 

For  those  dear  eyes  that  look  no  scorn  for  me, 

That  voice  that  speaks  respect  and  tenderness, 

Even  for  me.     My  dove,  my  lily-flower, 

My  only  stay  in  life.     O  God  !  I  thank  thee 

That  thou  hast  left  me  this  at  least.  [He  weep. 

Fio. 
Dear  father ! 

You  're  crying  now ;  you  must  not  cry,  you  must  not, 
I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  cry. 

Ber. 
Let  be ! 
'T  were  better  than  to  see  me  laugh. 

Fio. 
But  wherefore  ? 

You  say  you  are  so  happy  here,  and  yet 
You  never  come  but  to  weep  bitter  tears. 
And  I  can  but  weep  too,  not  knowing  why. 
Why  are  you  sad  ?     O,  tell  me,  tell  me  all !  , 

Ber. 

I  cannot.     In  this  house  I  am  thy  father; 
Out  of  it  what  I  am  boots  not  to  say ; 
Hated,  perhaps;  or  envied;  feared,  I  hope, 
By  many ;  scorned  by  more,  and  loved  by  none. 
In  this  one  innocent  corner  of  the  world 
I  would  but  be  to  thee  a  father ;  something 
August  and  sacred. 

Fio. 
And  you  are  so,  father. 

Ber. 

I  love  thee  with  a  love  strong  as  the  hate 

I  bear  for  all  but  thee.  [Fiordelisa  starts  in  alarm. 

Come,  sit  beside  me, 

With  thy  pure  hand  in  mine,  and  tell  me  still, 

"  I  love  you,"  and  "  I  love  you  ;  "  only  that. 

Smile  on  me — so!  —  thy  smile  is  passing  sweet! 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  4.7 

Thy  mother  used  to  smile  so  once.     O  God  ! 
I  cannot  bear  it.     Do  not  smile,  it  wakes 
Memories  that  tear  my  heart-strings.     Do  not  look 
So  like  thy  mother,  or  I  shall  go  mad ! 

Fio. 
O,  tell  me  of  my  mother ! 

Ber. 
No,  no,  no  1 

Fio. 
She  's  dead  ? 

Ber. 
Yes. 

Fio. 
You  were  with  her  when  she  died  ? 

Ber. 

No !  leave  the  dead  alone,  talk  of  thyself — 
Thy  life  here.     Thou  heed'st  well  my  caution,  girl, 
Not  to  go  out  by  day,  nor  show  thyself 
There,  at  the  casement. 

Fio. 
Yes ;  some  day,  I  hope, 

You  will  take  me  with  you,  but  to  see  the  town ; 
'T  is  so  hard  to  be  shut  up  here,  alone. 

Ber. 
Thou  hast  not  stirred  abroad  ? 

Fio. 
Only  to  vespers; 

You  said  I  might  do  that,  with  good  Brigitta. 
I  never  go  forth  or  come  in  alone. 

Ber. 

That 's  well.     I  grieve  that  thou  shouldst  live  so  close. 
But  if  thou  knew'st  what  poison  's  in  the  air, 
What  evil  walks  the  streets,  how  innocence 


48  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Is  a  temptation,  beauty  but  a  bait 

For  desperate  desires: — no  man,  I  hope, 

Has  spoken  to  thee  ? 

Fio. 
Only  one. 

Ber. 

Ha !  who  ? 

Fio. 


I  know  not ; 

't  was 

against  my  will, 

You  gave 
No  answer  ? 

Ber. 

No :  I  fled. 

Fio. 

He  followed 

you? 

Ber. 

Fio. 

A  gracious  lady  gave  me  kind  protection, 
And  bade  her  train  guard  me  safe  home.     O,  father, 
If  you  had  seen  how  good  she  was,  how  gently 
She  soothed  my  fears — for  I  was  sore  afraid  — 
I  'm  sure  you  'd  love  her. 

Ber. 
Did  you  learn  her  name  ? 

Fio. 

I  asked  it,  first,  to  set  it  in  my  prayers, 
And  then,  that  you  might  pray  for  her. 

Ber. 
I  pray !  [Aside. 

Her  name  ?  [  To  Fiordelisa. 

Fio. 

The  Countess  Malatesta. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 


49 


Ber. 

Count  Malatesta's  wife  protect  my  child ! 

[Fiordelisa  starts  up  in  alarm  at  his  manner. 
You  have  not  seen  her  since  ? 

Fio. 
No ;  though  she  urged  me 
So  hard  to  come  to  her ;  and  asked  my  name  ; 
And  who  my  parents  were ;  and  where  I  lived. 

Ber. 
You  did  not  tell  her  ? 

Fio. 
Who  my  parents  were  ? 
How  could  I,  when  I  do  not  know  it? 

Ber. 

Patience,  my  darling ;  trust  thy  father's  love, 
That  there  is  reason  for  this  mystery. 
The  time  may  come  when  we  may  live  in  peace, 
And  walk  together  free,  under  free  heaven : 
But  that  cannot  be  here,  nor  now ! 

Fio. 
O,  when, 
When  shall  that  time  arrive  ? 

Ber. 
When  what  I  live  for 
Has  been  achieved. 

What  you  live  for  ? 

Ber. 
Revenge !  [Rises  and  goes  r. 

Fio. 
O  do  not  look  so,  father ! 

Ber. 

Listen,  girl: 

You  asked  me  of  your  mother ;  it  is  time 
You  should  know  why  all  questioning  of  her 
4 


Fio. 


s° 


THE    FOOL'S   REVENGE. 


Racks  me  to  madness.     Look  upon  me,  child ; 
Misshapen  as  I  am,  there  once  was  one 
Who,  seeing  me  despised,  mocked,  lonely,  poor, 
Loved  me,  I  think,  most  for  my  misery : 
Thy  mother,  like  thee,  just  so  pure,  so  sweet. 
I  was  a  public  notary  in  Cesena ; 
Our  life  was  humble,  but  so  happy  :  thou 
Wert  in  thy  cradle  then,  and  many  a  night 
Thy  mother  and  I  sate  hand  in  hand  together, 
Watching  thy  innocent  smiles,  and  building  up 
Long  plans  of  joy  to  come. 

Fio. 
Alas !  she  died. 

Ber. 
Died! 

There  are  deaths  't  is  comfort  to  look  back  on ; 
Hers  was  not  such  a  death.     A  devil  came 
Across  our  quiet  life,  and  marked  her  beauty : 
She  scorned  his  offers, 
But  he,  a  noble,  great  and  powerful, 
Bore  her — by  force  —  away,  and  from  that  hour 
I  never  saw  her  more :  they  brought  me  news 
That  she  was  dead ! 

Fio. 
Ah  me ! 

Ber. 
And  I  was  mad, 

For  years  and  years,  and  when  my  wits  came  back — 
If  e'er  they  came — they  brought  one  haunting  purpose, 
That  since  has  shaped  my  life — to  have  revenge : 
Revenge  upon  her  wronger  and  his  order ! 

Fio. 

Father,  't  is  not  for  me  to  question  with  you : 
But,  think  —  revenge  belongeth  not  to  man; 
It  is  God's  attribute!  usurp  it  not! 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  5 1 

Ber. 

Preach  abstinence  to  him  that  dies  of  hunger; 
Tell  the  poor  wretch  who  perishes  of  thirst 
There  's  danger  in  the  cup  his  fingers  clutch ; 
But  bid  me  not  forswear  revenge.     No  word ! 
Thou  knowest  now  why  I  mew  thee  up  so  close ; 
Keep  thee  out  of  the  streets ;  shut  thee  from  eyes 
And  tongues  of  lawless  men ;  for,  in  these  days, 
All  men  are  lawless.     'T  is  because  I  fear 
To  lose  thee,  as  I  lost  thy  mother. 

Fio. 
Father, 
I  '11  pray  for  her. 

Ber. 

Do,  and  for  me ;  good-night ! 

Fio. 

O,  not  so  soon ;  with  all  these  sad,  dark  thoughts, 
These  bitter  memories.     You  need  my  love : 
I  '11  touch  my  lute  for  you,  and  sing  to  it. 
Music,  you  know,  chases  all  evil  angels. 

Ber. 

I  must  go  :  't  is  grave  business  calls  me  hence. 
'T  is  time  that  I  was  at  my  post.  [Aside. 

My  own,  sleep  in  thine  innocence.  [To  Fiordelisa. 

Good-night !  good-night ! 

Fio. 
But  let  me  see  you  to  the  outer  door. 

Ber. 

Not  a  siep  further,  then.  [Music  till  they  go  out. 

God  guard  this  place, 

That  here  my  flower  may  grow,  safe  from  the  blight 

Of  look,  or  word  impure,  a  holy  thing 

Consecrate  to  thy  service,  and  my  love ! 

[Exeunt  Bertuccio  and  Fiordelisa  r.  i.  e. —  Man- 
fredi  and  Torelli  come  forward. 


S2 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 


Man. 

His  daughter !     That  so  fair  a  branch  should  spring 
From  such  a  gnarled  and  misshapen  stock ! 

Tor. 

But  did  you  mark  how  he  raved  of  revenge 
Upon  our  order  ? 

Man. 
By  the  mass,  I  think 
That  Guido  Malatesta  is  the  man 
That  played  him  the  shrewd  trick  he  told  the  girl  of. 
'T  was  at  Cesena,  marked  you ;  the  time  fits. 
That  's  why  he  hounds  me  on  after  the  countess. 
What !  must  I  be  the  tool  of  his  revenge  ? 
I  '11  teach  this  scurril  slave  to  strike  at  nobles ! 


Hark!  what's  that?  {Listening. 

Man. 
T  is  outside  the  window  ! 

Tor. 
yes?  {Listening. 

By  Bacchus,  some  one  climbs  the  balcony ! 

Man. 
A  gallant  ? 

Tor. 
In,  sir;  see  the  play  played  out. 

Man. 
But  I  '11  not  be  forestalled ! 

Tor. 
We  've  time  enough.  [  They  retire  into  the  recess. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  53 

[Enter  Aquila  from  the  balcony. 

Aqu. 

Pardon,  sweet  saint,  if  1  profane  thy  shrine. 

I  watched  Bertuccio  forth ;  he  passed  me  close ; 

I  feared  he  would  have  seen  me.     I  have  sworn 

Not  to  betray  their  foul  design  to  him. 

And  to  warn  her  this  means  alone  is  left  me.  [Music. 

Hark !  't  is  her  gracious  step ;  she  comes  this  way. 

[Enter  Fiordelisa. 
Fio. 

Comfort  of  the  afflicted,  comfort  him  ! 
Turn  his  revengeful  purpose  to  submission, 
And  grant  that  I  may  grow  to  take  the  place 
My  mother  has  left  empty  in  his  heart ! 
He  's  gone !     And  I  had  not  the  heart  to  speak 
Of  the  young  gentleman  who  follows  me. 
He  asked  if  any  spoke  to  me ;  I  told 
The  truth  :  he  never  spoke  to  me. 

[Seeing  Aquila. — Music  ceases. 
Who  's  there  ?     Brigitta  !  help ! 

Aqu. 
Silence  !  but  have  no  fear ; 
I  am  not  here  to  harm  you ;  do  not  tremble. 
I  would  die,  lady,  rather  than  offend  you. 

Fio. 

0  sir,  how  came  you  here  ? 

Aqu. 

1  knew  no  other  way 

But  by  the  balcony.     Desperate  occasions 
Dispense  with  ceremony.     My  respect 
Is  absolute.     Fear  not :  I  am  not  here 
To  say  "  I  love  you,"  nor  to  tell  you  how 
For  months  your  face  has  been  my  beacon  star. 
My  passion  never  would  have  found  a  tongue, 
It  is  too  reverent :  but  your  safety,  lady, 
I  can  be  bold  for  that. 


54  THE  fool's  revenge. 

Fio. 
My  safety ! 

Aqu. 
Threatened 

With  desperate  danger.     Think  you  one  so  fair 
Could  even  pray  in  safety  in  Faenza  ? 
You  have  been  seen :  your  beauty  hath  been  buzzed 
In  the  court's  amorous  ear :  there  is  a  project 
To  scale  your  balcony  to-night. 

Fio. 

0  father ! 

Aqu. 
He  cannot  save  you;  what  were  his  sole  strength 
Against  the  bravos  that  the  duke  commands, 
For  any  deed  of  ill !     My  arm  and  sword 
Are  stronger  than  your  father's,  and  are  yours 
As  absolutely.     And  yet  what  were  these  ? 

1  could  die  for  you,  but  I  could  not  save  you. 

Fio. 
What  shall  I  do  . 

Aqu. 

Have  you  no  friends,  protectors 

To  whom  you  might  betake  yourself? 

Fio. 
Alas! 
I  am  a  stranger  here. 

Aqu. 
Think,  have  you  none  ? 

Fio. 
Ha !  if  the  Countess  Malatesta 


Aqu. 

What  ? 

You  know  her  ? 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  55 

Fio. 

She  once  rescued  me  from  insult 

Of  a  rude  man ;  and  promised  help  whene'er 

I  chose  to  seek  it. 

Aqu. 
She  is  good,  and  pure, 
And  powerful  moreover  —  that 's  the  chief. 
Go  to  her  straight ;  you  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Midnight  is  fixed  for  their  foul  enterprize. 

Fio. 

But  how  to  find  the  house  ?     And  then  the  streets 
Are  dark  and  dangerous.     I  've  but  our  servant, 

Brigitta 

Aqu. 

Not  a  word  to  her !     She  's  false. 

Can  you  trust  me  ?     I  '11  lead  you  to  the  countess. 

Fio.  [Aside. 

Were  this  a  stratagem  ! 

Aqu. 
I  see  you  doubt  me : 

I  know  you  have  good  cause  to  doubt  all  men. 
O,  could  I  bare  my  heart,  and  show  you  there 
Your  image  set  amongst  its  holiest  thoughts, 
Beside  my  mother's  well-remembered  face ! 
Could  truth  speak  with  the  tongue,  look  from  the  eyes, 
You  would  not  doubt  me.     What  can  oaths  avail  ? 
He  who  could  cheat  you  would  not  fear  to  cheat 
God  and  his  saints !     Ladv,  it  is  the  truth 
That  I  have  spoken !     May  heaven  give  you  faith 
To  trust  in  me ;  but  if  not,  I  will  stay, 
And  die  in  your  defence. 

Fio. 
Sir,  I  will  trust  you, 

And  heaven  so  deal  with  you  as  you  with  me. 
Go  with  me  to  the  Countess  Malatesta; 
I  '11  seek  the  shelter  of  her  roof  to-night, 
To-morrow  must  bring  counsel  for  the  future. 


56  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Aqu. 

O,  bless  you  for  this  trust !     Come,  quick,  but  soft. 
Put  on  your  veil ;  fear  not,  I  am  your  guard, 
Your  slave,  your  sentinel.     I  crave  no  guerdon, 
Not  even  a  look  !     Enough  for  me  to  save  you. 

{Exeunt  Fiordelisa  and  DeW  Aquila  R.  i.e. 

Man. 
{Breaking  from  behind  the  arras,  Torelli  following 
him. 
Why  did  you  hold  me  back  ?     Our  project  's  marred. 
This  moonstruck  poet  bears  away  the  prize, 
And  I  am  fooled. 

Tor. 

Nay,  trust  my  cooler  brain. 

I  '11  follow  him  to  Malatesta's.     Sure 

He  '11  give  her  shelter  ? 

Man. 
In  his  lady' s  absence  ? 

Tor. 
Even  so.     The  old  ruffian  can  be  courteous 
When  there  's  a  pretty  face  in  question ! 

Man. 

Let  him ! 

I  '11  break  his  house,  or  any  man's  that  dares 

Set  his  locks  in  the  way  of  my  good  pleasure ! 

Tor. 
Why  not  ?     T  will  give  a  double  pungency 
To  our  revenge  upon  Bertuccio. 
We  only  looked  to  keep  the  foul-mouthed  knave 
Out  of  the  way  while  we  bore  off  his  pearl; 
But  now  we  '11  use  him  for  the  robbery. 
He  shall  see  us  scale  Malatesta's  windows; 
But  she  whom  we  bear  thence,  muffled  and  gagged, 
Shall  be  the  hunch-backed  scoffer's  pretty  daughter. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  57 

Man. 

xi  rare  revenge !  and  so  this  brain-sick  poet 
And  my  curst  jester  may  console  each  other. 
Watch  them  to  Malatesta's ;  I  '11  to  our  friends 
And  find  Bertuccio  by  San  Stefano. 

{Exit  Manf redi  by  secret  door.       \Exit    Torelft 

R.    I.   E. 


<a.  a        *.     (  A  Street  in  Faenza  [First  Grooves']. 

Scene   Secon*.    {      NlGHT<     Bell  st^ikes  Nine_ 

[Enter  Bertuccio. 
Ber. 

The  hour  is  struck,  they  will  be  here  anon ; 

Trust  them  to  keep  a  tryst  for  a  villanous  deed. 

I  had  need  to  whet  the  memory  of  my  wrong, 

Or  my  girl's  angel  face  and  innocent  tongue 

Had  shaken  even  my  steadfastness  of  purpose. 

And  Malatesta's  wife  has  done  her  kindness : 

I  would  she  had  not.     But,  what  's  such  slight  service 

To  my  huge  wrong  ?     Let  me  but  think  of  that ! 

I  grow  too  human  near  my  child ;  I  lack 

The  sharp  sting  of  court  scorn  to  spur  the  sides 

Of  my  intent.     With  her  I  'm  free  to  weep ; 

With  them  I  still  must  laugh,  still  be  their  ape 

To  mop,  and  mow,  and  wake  their  shallow  mirth. 

True,  I  can  sometimes  bite,  as  monkeys  do. 

They  '11  make  mirth  of  that  too  !     O,  courtly  sirs ! 

Sweet-spoken,  stalwart  gallants  !  if  you  knew 

The  hate  that  rankles  underneath  my  motley, 

The  scorn  that  barbs  my  wit,  the  bitterness 

That  grins  behind  my  laughter,  you  would  start, 

And  shudder  o'er  your  cups,  and  cross  yourselves 

As  if  the  devil  were  in  your  company. 

Once  my  revenge  achieved,  I  '11  spurn  my  chain, 


58  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Fool  it  no  more,  but  give  what  's  left  of  life 
To  thought  of  her  I  've  lost,  and  love  of  her 
That  yet  is  left  me. 

[Enter  Manfredi,  Ascolti,  and  Ordelaffi,  masked 
and  cloaked,  L.  i.  E. 

Man. 
Hist,  Bertuccio! 

Ber. 

Here,  gossip  Galeotto ;  you  are  punctual : 
Ascolti  too.     Grave  Signor  Florentine, 
We  '11  show  you  how  the  gallants  of  Faenza 
Treat  greybeards  who  aspire  to  handsome  wives. 
Remember  your  beard  's  grizzled,  and  beware. 

Asc. 
I  will  stand  warned.     You  have  the  ladders  here  i 

Ber. 

The  lackeys  wait  in  charge  of  them  hard  by. 
But  where  's  Torelli  ?  we  shall  want  his  help. 

Ord. 
Pshaw !  our  three  swords  are  plenty. 

Ber. 

Cry  you  mercy ! 

T  is  not  Torelli's  sword  we  want. 

Ord. 
What  then  ? 

Ber. 

His  marvellous  quick  scent  of  danger,  man. 
Stick  to  his  skirts,  I  '11  answer  for  't  you  're  safe. 

[All  laugh. 
Perhaps  he  smelt  some  risk  of  buffets  here 
And  so  has  ta'en  him  home  to  bed. 


THE    FOOLS    REVENGE.  59 

Man. 
Away 

Towards  Malatesta's  house;  't  was  there  he  promised 
To  meet  us.     Sirrah  fool,  be  it  thy  post 
To  hold  the  ladder  while  we  mount ;  and  see 
Thou  play'st  us  no  jade's  trick,  or  'ware  the  whip ! 

Ber. 

Fear  not,  magnanimous  gossip ;  do  your  work 
With  as  good  will  as  I  do  mine.     The  countess 
Sleeps  in  the  chamber 

That  rounds  the  angle  of  the  southern  front ; 
I  came  but  now  by  the  palace :  all  was  quiet. 

Man. 

Set  on  then,  cautiously  :  use  not  your  swords 
Unless  on  strong  compulsion ;  blood  tells  tales, 
And  I  want  no  more  feuds  upon  my  hands. 

\Exeunt  r.  i.e. 


Exterior  of  Malatesta's  Palace.     A 
^•ctnt  (£l)tr&.  Window  on  the  Second  Floor,  with 

a  Balcony.     Moonlight. 

\Enter  Fiordelisa  and  Dell'  Aquila,  followed  by 
Torelli,  at  a  distance,  R.  u.  E. 

Aqu. 

Be  of  good  cheer,  this  is  the  house ;  I  '11  knock 

And  summon  forth  the  count.  {Knocks. 

Fio. 
O,  sir !  what  thanks 
Can  e'er  repay  this  kindness  ? 


<3o  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Aqu. 
But  remember 
Who  't  was  that  did  it,  I  am  thanked  enough. 

Fio. 
I  '11  pray  for  you,  after  my  father.      Hark ! 

Aqu. 

They  come !  [Enter  a  Servant  fro/n  house. 

Two  strangers  who  crave  instant  speech  [  To  Servant. 

Of  the  Count  Malatesta.  [Exit  Servant. 

Aqu. 
And  should  I  see  your  father  ? 

Fio. 
Then  you  know  him  ? 

Aqu. 
Yes. 

Fio. 
And  his  occupation  ?  [He  bows. 

'T  is  more  than  I  do,  sir,  that  am  his  child. 
I  do  not  even  know  his  name. 

Aqu. 
What  he 

Keeps  secret  from  you  't  is  not  mine  to  tell ; 
'T  were  well  you  should  not  question  him  too  closely : 
He  shall  learn  you  are  safe. 

Fio. 
And  tell  him,  too, 
That  't  was  you  saved  me,  sir.     Promise  me  that. 

[Enter  Malatesta,  and  two  servants  with  lights, 
from  house. 

Mai. 
Who  is  it  would  have  speech  of  Malatesta  ? 


You  know  me,  count  ? 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  6 1 

Aqu. 
Mai. 


Dell'  Aquila,  well  met ! 

But  your  companion  ? 

Ha!  a  petticoat!  [A side  to  Aquila. 

So  ho,  my  poet ! 

Aqu. 
Pardon,  if  I  pray 

This  lady's  name  may  rest  a  secret,  count ; 
She  is  in  grievous  danger;  one  from  which 
Your  house  can  shelter  her.     She  owes  already 
Your  countess  much,  for  good  help  given  at  need, 
So  craves  to  increase  the  debt. 

Mai. 
My  house  is  hers, 
But  she  should  know  my  countess  is  not  here. 

Fio. 
Not  here ! 

Mai. 

But,  if  she  dare  trust  my  grey  hairs, 
She  shall  have  shelter. 

Aqu. 
Nay,  she  cannot  choose. 

Mai. 

I  '11  give  her  my  wife's  chamber,  if  she  will ; 
Her  women  to  attend  her. 

Aqu. 
All  she  needs 

Is  your  roof's  shelter  for  the  night ;  to-morrow 
Must  see  her  otherwise  bestowed. 

Mai. 
Go  in 

Fair  lady ;  my  poor  house,  with  all  that 's  in  it 
Is  at  your  service.     Had  my  wife  been  here, 


62  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

You  had  had  gentler  tendance ;  as  it  is 

I  '11  lead  you  to  her  chamber,  and  there  leave  you. 

Tor.  [Aside. 

Now  to  the  hunters :  I  've  marked  down  the  deer. 

[Exit  R.  U.  E. 
Mai.  [  To  Aquila. 

You  will  not  stay  and  crush  a  cup  with  me  ? 

Aqu. 
No,  not  to-night. 

Did  you  not  well  to  trust  me  ?  [To  Fiordelisa. 

Farewell ;  think  of  me  in  your  prayers. 

Fio. 
I  cannot 

Choose  but  do  that,  sir. 

O,  the  thought  of  him  [Aside. 

Will  come,  henceforth,  betwixt  my  prayers  and  heaven  ! 

[Exit  Malatesta,  leading  in  Fiordelisa. 

Aqu. 
His  child !     Since  when  did  grapes  grow  upon  thistles  ? 
And  yet  I  'm  glad  to  know  the  tie  that  binds 
The  two  together  such  a  holy  one. 

[  The  scene  gradually  becomes  dark. 
Sweet  angel,  sister  angels  guard  thy  sleep ! 
Now,  to  seek  out  Bertuccio,  and  tell  him 
The  danger  she  has  'scaped,  and  thank  the  saints 
That  made  me  her  preserver.  [Exit  l.  i.e. 

[Brief  pause.— Music. — Enter  Bertuccio,  Man- 
fredi,  Ascolti,  Ordelaffi,  and  Torelli,  with  ser- 
vants carrying  ladder  r.  u.  e. — Music  ceases  as 
they  enter. 

Man. 
Softly,  you  knaves !     With  velvet  tread,  like  tigers ! 

Ber. 

Say  rather,  cats.  [A  light  appears  at  the  window. 


the  fool's  revenge.  63 

Tor. 
This  is  the  balcony. 

Ber. 

I  have  noted  in  this  summer  weather 
The  window  's  left  unbarred. 

Asc. 
Ha,  there  's  a  light ! 
If  she  were  stirring  ? 

Ber. 
What  an'  if  she  were  ? 

A  sudden  spring  —  a  cloak  flung  o'er  her  head  — 
If  she  have  time  to  scream  you  are  but  bunglers. 

Man. 
My  cloak  will  serve.  [Takes  off cloak. 

Asc. 
If  she  alarm  the  house 
It  might  go  hard  with  us. 

Ber. 
O,  cats  that  long 

For  fish,  yet  fear  to  wet  your  feet !     I  '11  shame  you. 
Let  me  mount  first. 
Give  me  your  cloak,  gossip !  [  To  Manfredi. 

Man. 

By  your  leave,  fool,  I  '11  net  my  own  bird.     Back ! 
Hold  thou  the  ladder ;  that  is  lacquey's  work, 
And  fits  thee  best.     Ascolti  and  Torelli, 
Guard  the  approaches.     I  and  Ordelaffi 
Will  be  enough  to  mount,  and  snare  the  game. 

[The  light  is  extinguished j  the  servants   set  up 

ladder  against  the  balcony.      Ordelaffi  mounts  the 

ladder  first ;  then  Manfredi. 

Ber. 
All 's  dark  now.     Up  !  [Bertuccio  holds  ladder. 

Man.  [On  ladder. 

Why,  rogue,  how  thy  hand  shakes] 
Is  't  fear  ? 


64  the  fool's  revenge. 

Ber. 

'T  is  inward  laughter,  Galeotto, 

To  think  how  blank  Guido  will  look  to-morrow 

To  find  the  nest  cold,  and  his  mate  borne  off! 

[Music  pp.  Manfred 'i  and  Ordelaffi  enter  the 
house,  through  the  window. — Moonlight  till  they 
come  dowfi  the  ladder. 

Ber.  [Listening. 

Ha !  they  are  in  by  this  time.     Cautious  fools  ! 

I  had  done  't  myself  in  half  the  space  !     So,  Guido, 

You  love  your  young  wife  well,  they  say ;  that  's  brave. 

Now,  Malatesta, 

Learn  what  it  is  to  wake,  and  find  her  gone 

That  was  the  pride  and  joy  of  your  dim  eyes, 

The  comfort  of  your  age.     I  welcome  you 

To  the  blank  hearth,  the  hunger  of  the  soul, 

The  long,  dark  days,  and  miserable  nights ! 

These  you  gave  me ;  I  give  them  back  to  you ! 

I,  the  despised,  deformed,  dishonoured  jester, 

Have  reached  up  to  your  crown,  and  pulled  it  down, 

And  flung  it  in  the  mire  as  you  flung  mine  ! 

[A  stifled  cry  within. —  Manfredi  and  Ordelaffi  re- 
appear on  the  balcony,  bearing  Fiordelisa  in  their 
arms,  muffled  in  Maufredi's  cloak. —  They  come 
down  the  ladder. 

Man. 

Away  all ;  to  my  garden  house, 
There  to  bestow  the  prize ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Bertuccio  r.  u.  e.,  the  servants 
carrying  off  the  ladder. 

Ber. 
'T  is  done ! 

Now,  murdered  innocent,  thou  art  avenged  ! 
I  cannot  sleep  !     I  '11  walk  the  night  away ! 
It  is  no  night  for  me,  my  day  has  come  !  [Music  forte. 

CURTAIN. 


Scene  JFirst.    < 


Wtt  €J)itb- 

The  Next  Day. 

{"  Manfredi's  House.  A  Room  with 
Doors  l.  i.  e.  and  r.  i.  and  2.  e., 
communicating  with  an  inner 
Chamber.  Tables  and  Chairs  r. 
and  L. 

{Enter  Fiordelisa  R.  1.  E. 


L 


Fio. 

Where  am  I  ?     What  has  happened  ?     Let  me  think. 

Those  men — that  blinding  cloak  —  the  fresh  night  air 

That  struck  upon  my  face — then  a  wild  struggle, 

In  strong  and  mastering  arms — then  a  long  blank. 

I  must  have  fainted ;  when  I  woke  I  lay 

On  a  rich  couch  in  that  room.     Has  he  brought  me 

Into  the  very  danger  that  he  said 

He  came  to  take  me  from  ?     O  cruel !     No, 

Falsehood  could  ne'er  have  found  such  words,  such  looks. 

Father !     O,  when  he  comes  and  finds  me  gone  ! 

I  must  go  hence !  {Looking  round 

That  door {She  runs  to  door  l.  i.e. 

'T  is  locked !  {Shaking  door. 

Help!  help! 

How  dare  they  draw  their  bolts  on  me  ?     My  father 
Shall  punish  them  for  this  !     I  will  go  forth ! 

{Shakes  door  again. —  The  door  opens  from  within. 
At  last !     Whoe'er  you  are,  sir,  help  me  hence  ! 

[Enter  Ma?ifredi\..  1.  e. 

Take  me  back  to  my  father !     He  will  bless  you, 
Reward  you 

5 


66  THE  fool's  revenge. 

Man. 
Nay,  your  own  lips  must  do  that. 

Fio. 
O,  they  shall  bless  you  too,  sir. 

Man. 
To  be  blessed 
With  that  sweet  mouth  were  well,  yet  scarce  enough. 

Fio. 

O,  sir,  we  waste  time.     Set  what  price  you  will 

On  the  great  service,  I  am  sure  my  father 

Will  pay  you.  [Matifredi  relocks  the  door  l.  i.  e. 

Man. 

If  we  're  to  discuss  your  ransom 
'T  were  fairest  we  should  do  it  with  closed  doors : 
The  terms  can  scarce  be  settled  till  you  know 
Your  prison — jailer — in  what  risk  you  stand. 
First,  for  your  prison :  know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Fio. 
No. 

Man. 

In  the  Duke  Manfredi's  palace.     Next : 
Know  you  your  jailer  ? 

Fio. 

Who? 

Man. 

Manfredi's  self. 

Fio. 
Woe  's  me ! 

Man. 

What  ?     Is  the  news  so  terrible  ? 

Fio. 

I  've  heard  Brigitta  and  my  father,  too, 
Speak  of  the  Duke  Manfredi. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  67 

Man.  [Aside. 

Here  's  a  chance 

To  hear  a  genuine  judgment  of  myself! 

They  said 

Fio. 

That  he  was  cruel,  bold,  unsated 

In  thirst  for  evil  pleasures ;  it  was  odds 

Whether  more  feared  or  hated  in  Faenza. 

Man.  [Aside. 

Trust  the  crowd's  garlic  cheers  and  greasy  caps ! 
The  knaves  shall  know  me  worse  ere  they  have  done. 
I  thank  you,  pretty  one  j  I  am  the  duke. 

Fio. 
Then  heaven  have  mercy  on  me  ! 

Man. 

If  report 

Speak  truth,  your  prayer  were  idle;  but  report 

Is  a  sad  liar.     Do  I  look  the  ogre 

They  painted  to  you  ?     Nay,  my  fluttered  dove, 

Smooth  but  those  ruffled  feathers ;  look  around  you. 

Is  this  so  grim  a  dungeon  ?     Was  your  couch 

Last  night  so  hard,  your  'tendance  so  ungentle  ? 

I  am  your  prisoner,  fairest,  not  you  mine. 

Fio. 
Then  let  me  go. 

Man. 

Not  till  you  know  at  least, 
What  you  will  lose  by  going.     All  Faenza 
Is  mine,  and  she  I  favour  may  command 
Whate'er  Faenza  holds  of  wealth  or  pleasure ; 
I  '11  pour  them  at  her  feet,  and  after  fling 
Myself  there  too,  to  woo  a  gracious  word. 
What  's  life  ungraced  by  love !  a  dismal  sky 
Without  sun,  moon,  or  starlight !     'T  is  a  cup 


68  THE    FOOL  S    REVENGE. 

Drained  of  the  wine  that  reddened  in  its  gold, 

A  lute  shorn  of  its  strings,  a  table  stripped 

Of  all  its  festal  meats,  mere  life  in  death. 

A  jewel  like  thy  beauty  is  not  meet 

To  be  shut  in  a  chest ;  it  should  be  set 

To  shine  in  princely  robes,  to  grace  a  crown. 

I  would  set  thee  in  mine.  [Approaching  her. 

Fio. 
Stand  back,  my  lord. 

Man.  [Halting. 

Why,  little  fool,  I  would  not  harm  a  hair 
On  thy  fair  head.     Think  what  thy  life  has  been, 
How  dull,  and  dark,  and  dreary !     It  shall  be 
As  bright,  and  glad,  and  sunny,  as  the  prime 
Of  summer  flowers.     Only  repel  not  joy 
Because  it  comes  borne  in  the  hand  of  love. 

Fio. 

O,  you  profane  that  name  !     Is  love  the  friend 
Of  night  and  violence  and  robbery  ? 
Let  me  go  hence,  I  say.     I  have  a  father 
Who  '11  make  you  terribly  aby  this  wrong, 
Lord  as  you  are ! 

Man. 

Your  father !     By  the  mass, 

She  makes  me  laugh !     Your  father,  girl !     Bertuccio  ! 

Fio. 

That  I  should  learn  my  father's  name  from  him ! 
Yes,  duke,  my  father ! 

Man, 
Why,  he  is  my  slave, 

A  thing  that  crouches  to  me  like  my  hound, 
To  beg  for  food,  or  deprecate  the  lash, 
My  butt,  my  whipping-block,  my  fool  in  motley. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  69 

Fio. 

It  is  not  true.     This  is  a  lie,  like  all 

That  you  have  said.     Let  me  go  forth,  I  say. 

Man. 

You  're  in  my  palace.     Here  are  none  but  those 
To  whom  my  will  is  law ;  your  calls  for  help 
Will  only  bring  more  force — if  I  could  stoop 
To  use  force  with  a  lady. 

Fio. 
Then  you  have 

Some  manhood  in  you.     Look,  sir,  at  us  two : 
You  are  a  duke,  you  say ;  your  power  but  bounded 
By  your  own  will.     I  am  a  poor  weak  girl, 
E'en  weaker  than  I  knew,  if  what  you  say 
Touching  my  father,  be  the  truth.     What  honour 
Is  to  be  won  on  me  ?     Yet,  won  it  may  be, 
By  yielding  to  my  prayers  to  be  set  free, 
To  be  sent  home.     O,  let  me  but  go  hence, 
As  I  came  hither ;  I  will  speak  to  none 
Of  this  night's  outrage ;  not  even  to  my  father. 

Man. 
Ask  anything  but  this. 

Fio. 
Nothing  but  this ! 
You  have  a  wife,  my  lord ;  what  if  she  knew  ? 

Man. 

The  more  need  to  take  care  you  tell  her  not. 

Come,  little  one,  give  up  these  swelling  looks, 

Though  they  become  you  mightily.  {Approaching  her. 

Fio. 
Stand  off!  \He  advances ;  she  retreats  to  r.  2.  e. 

Help!  help! 
A  door !  ha  1  [She  opens  it  and  rushes  in. 


7° 


THE    FOOL  S    REVENGE. 


Man. 
Deeper  in  the  toils  !  [Locking  the  door. 

The  lamb  seeks  shelter  in  the  wolf's  own  den  !       [Laughs. 

■ 

Tor.  [Outside,  L.  i.  E. 

My  lord ! 

Man. 
Torelli's  voice ! 
How  now,  Torelli  ?  [  Unlocks  the  door  l.  i.e. 

[Enter  Torelli 
Tor. 

My  lord,  the  duchess  is  returned. 

Man. 

Why,  man, 

Thy  news  is  stale ;  the  duchess  has  been  here 

These  five  hours ;  she  arrived,  post  haste,  ere  sunrise. 

She  must  have  ridden  in  the  dark.     'T  was  that 

Prevented  me  from  making  earlier  matins 

Before  my  little  saint  here. 

Tor. 
Do  you  know 
What  brought  the  duchess  back  so  suddenly  ? 

Man. 

Some  jealous  fancy  pricked  her,  as  I  judge 
From  her  accost  when  we  encountered  first ; 
And,  as  I  gathered,  she  suspects  contrivance 
Betwixt  me  and  the  Countess  Malatesta. 
'T  was  a  relief,  for  once,  that  I  could  twit  her 
With  groundless  fears.     I  told  her  Malatesta 
Rode  yesterday  with  his  lady  to  Cesena, 
And,  for  more  proof,  repeated  what  he  said, 
That  on  my  wife's  least  summons  she  'd  return ; 
So  she  has  summoned  her,  in  hopes,  no  doubt, 
To  catch  me  in  a  lie.     Her  messenger 
Rode  to  Cesena  just  at  daybreak.     Soon 
We  may  look  for  him  back,  bringing,  I  hope, 
Ginevra  Malatesta. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  7  I 

1 

Tor. 
This  is  rare. 

So  falls  she  off  the  scent,  and  leaves  you  here 
To  follow  up  your  game  with  Fiordelisa. 

Man. 

Even  so.     I  excused  me  from  her  presence 

By  work  of  state,  for  which  to  this  pavilion 

I  had  summoned  you  and  the  Envoy  of  Florence, 

Said  work  of  state  being  no  less  a  one 

Than  to  lend  me  your  presence  at  the  banquet 

I  mean  to  offer  our  fair  prisoner. 

Bid  Ordelaffi  and  Ascolti  hither, 

And  send  my  men  with  fruits  and  wines  and  sweetmeats, 

All  that  is  likeliest  to  tempt  the  sense 

Of  this  scared  bird. 

Tor. 

How  did  you  find  her,  sir  ? 

Man. 

Beating  her  pretty  wings  against  the  bars ; 
Still  calling  for  her  father.     Shrewdly  minded 
To  peck  instead  of  kissing,  silly  fledgling ! 
But  I  will  tame  her  yet,  till  she  shall  come 
To  perch  upon  my  finger. 

Tor. 
Where  is  she  ? 

Man. 

In  the  inner  room,  whither  she  fled  but  now. 
Fear  not,  I  turned  the  key  on  her ;  she  's  safe. 

Tor. 

I  '11  send  what  you  command,  and  warn  the  rest 
That  you  attend  them.     Good  speed  to  your  wooing. 

[Exit  l.  1.  1 


72  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

Man. 

Now  for  my  prisoner !     By  gentle  means 
To  gain  her  ear.     Asmodeus,  tip  my  tongue 
With  love's  persuasion ! 

[Exit  into  inner  room  r.  2.  E.  He  locks  the  doof 
within. — Enter  the  Duchess  Erancesca,  masked, 
and  Bertuccio,  who  has  resumed  his  fooPs  dress, 
L.  1.  e. 

Era.  [  Unmasking. 

Was  't  not  Torelli  went  hence,  even  now  ? 

Ber. 
I  think  it  was.     Be  sure  he  saw  us  not. 

Era. 

Then  you  still  bear  me  out  my  husband  lies  ? 
That  Malatesta's  wife  has  not  gone  hence  ? 

Ber. 

Trust  a  fool's  eyes  before  a  husband's  tongue. 
I  say  again,  I  was  at  hand  last  night 
When  your  lord  bore  from  Malatesta's  house 
Said  Malatesta's  wife.     I  saw  the  deed. 
I  heard  the  order  given  to  bring  her  hither. 

Era. 

Then  't  was  by  force,  not  by  the  lady's  will, 
She  came  ? 

Ber. 

Force?     Quotha — force!     How  many  ladies 

Have  had  to  bless  the  "  force  "  that  saved  their  tongue 

An  awkward  "  yes."     See  you  not  what  an  answer 

"  Force  "  finds  for  all  ?     It  stops  a  husband's  mouth ; 

Crams  its  fist  down  the  town's  throat ;  nay ;  at  a  pinch 

Perks  its  sufficient  self  in  a  wife's  face  : 

Commend  me  still  to  "  force."     It  saves  more  credits 

Than  e'er  it  ruined  virtues.     After  foil}-, 

I  hold  force  the  best  mask  that  wit  has  found 

To  mock  the  world  with !  [Goes  to  door  r.  2.  E. 


THE  fool's  revenge.  73 

Fra. 

There  's  weight  in  that. 

This  violence  would  stand  her  in  good  stead, 

Were  she  e'er  called  in  question !     Then,  what  matter, 

So  I  be  wronged,  if 't  is  by  force  or  will. 

Would  I  had  certain  proof! 

Ber. 

Ha  !     You  want  proof? 

Come  here ;  [  The  Duchess  approaches  him. 

Stand  where  I  stand.     Now  listen  — close. 

Bra.  [Listening  at  door. 

My  husband's  voice,  in  passionate  entreaty  ! 

Ber. 
Only  his  voice  ? 

Fra. 

An  answering  voice  !  a  woman's ! 

These  are  your  state  affairs,  my  gracious  duke ! 

[Comes  down. 

Ber. 

If  you  would  have  more  proof,  I  '11  bring  you  where 
You  shall  hear  his  humble  tools  in  last  night's  business 
Discuss  the  deed ;  all  noble  gentlemen. 
Who  'd  pluck  my  hood  about  my  ears  if  I 
Durst  hint  a  doubt  of  their  veracity. 

Fra. 
Do  so,  and  if  they  bear  thy  story  out 
I  know  my  part. 

Ber. 

What,  tears  ? 

Fra. 
Tears  ?     Death  to  both ! 

Ber. 
Take  care.     His  guards  are  faithful.     Can  you  trust 
A  hand  to  do  the  deed  ? 


74  the  fool's  revenge. 

Fra. 
I  trust  my  own. 

Ber. 

Women  turn  pale  at  blood.     Your  heart  may  fail  you, 
When  the  time  comes  to  strike. 

Fra. 
Daggers  for  men. 
I  know  a  surer  weapon. 

Ber.  [  Whispering. 

Poison  ? 

Fra. 

Hush ! 

The  Borgia's  physician  gave  it  me ! 

It  may  be  trusted  !  {Goes  to  door  r.  2.  e. 

Ber.  [Aside. 

My  she-leopard's  loosed  at  last!  [Exit  l.  i.  e. 

Fra.    [  Still  at  the  door,  listening. 

Past  doubt,  a  woman's  tongue  !     And  now  my  husband's ! 

How  well  I  know  the  soft,  smooth,  pleading  voice ! 

The  voice  that  drew  my  young  heart  to  my  lips, 

When,  at  my  father's  court,  I  plighted  troth 

To  him,  and  he  to  me.     O  bitterness ! 

Now  spurned  for  each  new  leman  of  the  hour ! 

O,  he  shall  learn  how  terrible  is  hate 

That  grows  of  love  abused.     [Taking  a  vial  from  her  bosom. 

Come,  bosom  friend, 

That  hast  lain  cold,  of  late,  against  my  heart, 

As  if  to  whisper  to  it,  "  Be  thou  stone, 

When  the  time  calls  for  me."  [Looki?ig  at  the  vial. 

Each  drop  's  a  death. 

What  matter  who  she  be  ?     Enough  for  me 

That  she  usurps  the  place  that  should  be  mine 

In  Galeotto's  love.  [Music. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  75 

Hark!  some  one  comes. 

[She  conceals  the  vial  and  resumes  her  mask. — 
Enter  two  Chamberlains  with  white  wands, 
followed  by  Attendants  bearing  a  banquet.  They 
pass  into  the  inner  roo?n. — After  them  Ascanio, 
with  wine  in  a  golden  flagon,  on  a  salver  l.  i.e. 

Hold,  sir,  set  down  your  charge.  [To  Ascanio. 

A  scan. 
By  your  leave,  madam, 
'T  is  for  my  lord. 

Fra. 

Since  when  was  that  an  answer 

To  give  thy  lady  ?  [Removes  her  mask. 

Ascan. 
'T  is  the  duchess !  [Aside. 

Pardon ;  I  knew  you  not.  [  To  Francesca. 

Fra. 

Enough,  sir,  set  it  down, 

And  wait  without  till  I  bid  thee  bear  in. 

[Exit  Ascanio  L.  1.  E. 

What  need  of  further  proof?     Is  't  heaven  or  hell 

That  sends  this  apt  occasion  ?     Galeotto, 

I  warned  thee,  in  the  spring-time  of  our  loves, 

This  hand  could  kill  as  easy  as  caress ; 

You  laughed,  and  took  it  in  your  ampler  palm, 

And  said  that  death  were  pleasant  from  such  white 

And  taper  fingers.     Try  it  now ! 

[She  pours  some  of  the  contents  of  the  vial  into  the 
flagon  of  wine. 
'T  is  done  !  [Re-enter  Bertuccio  l.  i.e. 

Ber. 

Hide,  here,  Madonna;  [Opening door  r.  i.  e. 

Here  their  lordships  come  ! 

I  met  them  on  the  way,  so  brave  and  merry ! 


/  6  THE  fool's  revenge. 

My  gossip  Galeotto  bids  them  here  — 
To  feast  with  him  and  her ! 

[Exit  Bcrtuccio  l.  i.  e. — Francesea  starts  as  if 
stung j  the?i  rings  bell  on  table  r.  —  Re- enter 
Ascanio  L.  i.e. —  She  signs  to  himj  he  bears 
in  the  wine  r.  2.  E. 

Fra.  [Aside. 

Their  doom  is  sealed ! 

\Exit  Francesca  R.  1.  E. — Re-enter  Bertuccio,  with 
Ascolti  and  Ordelajfi  l.  i.e. 

Ber. 

It  is  your  due ;  you  that  go  out  bat-fowling 
Lack  wine  o'  mornings  to  keep  up  your  hearts. 

Ord. 

Why  thou  wert  there,  knave ;  yet  try  thou  to  enter 
Into  the  presence,  and  they  '11  whip  thee  back. 
His  highness  wants  no  fool  to-day  ! 

Ber. 
That  's  true, 

With  you  two  for  his  company.     But  tell  me, 
How  will  the  lady  relish,  o'er  her  wine, 
The  cut-throat  faces  that  she  saw  last  night  ? 
Methinks  't  will  mar  her  appetite. 

Asc. 
Be  sure 

She  will  not  look  so  scared  at  us 
As  thou  wouldst  at  the  sight  of  her. 

Ber. 
Who,  I  ? 

Nay,  I  but  held  the  ladder :  we  poor  knaves 
Must  take  the  leavings  of  your  rogueries, 
As  of  your  feasts.     But  prithee,  Ordelaffi, 
How  looked  she  ? 


the  fool's  revenge.  77 

Ord. 

Wouldst  believe  it  ? 

Methought  she  had  a  something  of  thy  favour; 
As,  if  so  crooked  a  thing  could  have  a  daughter, 
Thy  daughter  might  have  had. 

[.•///  laugh. — Beriuccio  starts. 

Asc. 
How  now  !  he  winces. 
Let  's  in  at  once,  my  lord. 

Ber. 

I  '11  marshal  you ;   who  said  that  cap  and  bells 
Should  be  shut  out  ? 

Asc. 

Stand  back,  Sir  Fool,  't  were  best ; 

You  may  repent  your  pressing  on  too  far. 

Ber. 

I  fain  would  see  the  lady ;  't  is  not  often 
That  one  can  carry  a  beauty  off  at  night, 
And  make  her  laugh  i'  the  morning. 

Ord. 

Neither  she, 

Nor  you,  I  think,  are  like  to  breed  much  mirth 

Out  of  each  other. 

Ber. 

Say  you  so  ?     Here  goes ! 

f He  runs  up  to  the  door  R.  2.  e.  Ascanio  opens  it 
and  motions  him  back.  The  two  Chamberlains 
appear  at  the  open  door. 

Ascan. 
Stand  back ! 

Ber. 

I !  why  I  'm  the  Fool !     Free  o'  the  palace  ! 
Every  place  except  the  council-chamber, 
And  in  that  I  sit  by  proxy ! 


78  the  fool's  revenge. 

Ascan. 
'T  is  the  duke's  strict  order 

You  enter  not  this  room.  {Bertuccio  presses  forward. 

Back  !  or  the  grooms 
Shall  score  thy  hunch  to  motley.     [Ascanio  closes  the  door. 

Asc. 
How  now,  sirrah, 
Call  you  this  marshalling  ? 

Ber. 
I  am  right  served !     I  forgot 
That  fools  in  silks  should  take  the  precedence 
Of  fools  in  motley  !     Lead  the  way,  my  lords ! 

Ord. 
Look,  here  comes  Malatesta. 

Ber. 
Ha !  but  stay 

To  hear  me  gird  at  him !     You  call  me  bitter; 
Now  you  shall  see  how  merciful  I  've  been. 

Asc.  [To  Ordelaffi. 

Waste  not  your  ears  on  him,  the  duke  awaits  us 
Beside  his  beauty — metal  more  attractive 
Than  this  curst  word-catcher. 

Ord. 
Aye,  aye,  let  's  in. 

\Exeunt  Ordelaffi  and  Ascolti  r.    2.  e. — Enter 
Francesca  r.  i.  e. 

Ber. 
Now,  now,  Madonna,  have  you  proof  enough  ? 

Fra. 

Mountains  of  proof  on  proof,  if  proof  were  needed; 
But  had  disproof  come  with  them,  and  not  proof, 
'T  is  all  too  late. 


the  fool's  revenge.  79 

Ber. 
How? 

Bra. 

I  have  drugged  their  wine. 

They  will  sleep  sound  to-night.  [She  retires  tip  stage. 

Ber.  [As'de. 

Choose  woman's  hands, 

You  that  would  have  grim  work  nimbly  dispatched. 
Here  's  Malatesta! — looking  black  as  night. 
So,  lord,  I  hope  you  liked  your  waking  news. 
Now,  now,  to  gloat  over  his  agony  ! 

[Enter  Malatesta  L.  i,  E. 

Mai. 
Ha,  knave !  I  'd  see  the  duchess. 

Ber. 

Marvellous ! 

Mai. 
How  now  ? 

Ber. 

To  think  that  they  can  make  such  caps 
To  hide  all  trace  of  them. 

Mai. 
Of  what,  knave  ? 

Ber. 
Horns. 

Mai. 
Rascal ! 

Ber. 

I  hope  your  lordship  had  good  rest ; 
And  that  my  lady,  too,  slept  undisturbed. 

Mai. 
What  mean  you,  sirrah  ? 


80  THE  fool's  revenge. 

Ber. 

Nay,  strain  not  so  hard 

To  keep  it  down ;  you  are  among  friends  here. 

A  grievous  loss,  no  doubt, —  but  at  your  age 

You  could  scarce  look  to  keep  her  to  yourself. 

Others  have  lost  wives,  too, —  poor  knaves  who  thought 

To  stick  in  their  thrum-caps  jewels  that  caught 

The  eyes  of  nobles ;  needs  were  they  must  yield 

Daughters — or  wives. 

Mai. 

Art  mad,  or  drunk,  or  both  ? 

My  errand  's  to  thy  mistress,  not  to  thee. 

Where  is  she  ? 

Fra.  [  Coming  forward. 

Here,  my  lord !  [They  talk  apart. 

Ber. 
He  bears  it  bravely. 

But  wounds  will  bleed  under  an  iron  corslet ; 
And  how  his  must  be  bleeding — for  he  loved  her; 
The  whole  court  vouches  it. 

\Francesca  and  Mala  testa  come  forward. 

Fra. 

You  say  your  lady  slept  not  here,  last  night, 
But  at  Cesena  ? 

Mai. 
Or  the  devil 's  in  't. 

I  saw  her  safe  bestowed  there :  I  can  trust 
My  own  eyes,  or  still  better,  my  own  bolts. 

Ber.  [Aside. 

Is  this  old  man,  too,  of  Manfredi's  council, 
To  cheat  his  wife  ? 

Mai. 

I  little  thought  to  bring  her  back  so  soon; 

But,  on  your  summons,  I  have  straight  recalled  her. 


J  UK    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 


81 


Ber.         [Coming  between  them. 
And  she  is  here :  hold  him  to  that,  Madonna. 


Mai. 


Malapert  dog 


Fra. 


Pardon  his  licensed  tongue. 
I  fain  would  see  the  lady. 


Mai. 


You  shall  see  her ; 

I  have  not  far  to  fetch  her. 

Ber. 

'  T  is  a  lie  !  — 

A  cursed  lie,  to  hide  his  own  foul  shame ! 

Believe  him  not ! 


[Exit  L.  I.E. 


But  if  he  bring  the  lady  ? 


Fra. 


Ber. 


Aye,  if  he  bring  the  lady,  then  believe  him ! 
He  robs  me  of  my  right,  taking  his  wrong  [Aside. 

With  outward  show  of  calm.     Mine  turned  my  brain. 
I  looked  to  see  him  mad,  or  drive  him  so ! 

Man.  [  Within. 

More  wine,  knave ! 

[Ascanio  enters  R.  2.  E.,  and  goes  out  l.  i.  e. 

Fra. 

Ginevra,  or  another,  what  of  that  ? 

The  wrong  's  the  same,  why  not  the  same  revenge  ? 

Ber. 

The  same  to  you,  but  not  the  same  to  me !  [Aside. 

I  tell  you  Malatesta's  wife  sits  yonder —       [To  Francesca. 
Sits  at  your  husband's  side.     I  saw  her — I  — 
Borne  off  last  night !     I  saw.     There  is  no  faith 
In  eyes  or  ears  or  truth,  if  't  were  not  she ! 
6 


82  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

[Re-enter  Ma latesta,  with  Ginevra,  l.  i.e.     Ber- 
tuccio's  back  is  toward  them. 

Mai. 
Madam,  my  wife ! 

Ber.  [  Turning. 

Ginevra  here !  then  who 

Was  that  they  carried  from  her  bed  last  night  ? 

Who  is  't  sits  yonder  ? 

Fra. 

Tell  me,  gracious  lady, 

Where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ? 

Gin. 

Where  I  scarce  thought 

To  leave  so  soon,  your  highness ;  in  Cesena, 

Within  my  husband's  castle. 

Fra. 
Pardon,  madam, 

That  I  have  set  you  on  a  hurried  journey  ; 
Still  more  that  I  have  wronged  you  in  my  thoughts ! 

[  Laughter  heard  within. 

They  laugh !  laugh  on,  my  lord,  while  it  is  time.      [Aside. 

Gin. 

Wilt  please  you  grant  me  audience :  you  shall  hear 
To  the  minute  how  my  hours  went  yesterday, 
Down  to  this  moment. 

Fra. 

Come  out  in  the  air ; 

I  stifle  within  hearing  of  their  mirth.  [Aside. 

Stay  here!  see  that  the  other  'scape  me  not. 

[  To  Bertuccio. 

[Exeunt  Franccsca  and  Ginevra  L.  i.  E. 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  83 

Ber. 

The  other !     Not  Ginevra  ?     Good,  my  lord, 

[To  Malatesta,  who  goes  to  door  r.  2.  E. 

Your  wife  slept  at  Cesena,  yet  her  chamber 
Was  not  untenanted  last  night,  I  '11  swear ! 

Mai. 
And  so  thou  mightst,  yet  break  no  oath. 

Ber. 
Who  slept  in  't  ? 

Mai. 

I  know  not.     Ask  Dell'  Aquila :  't  was  he 
Brought  me  the  lady,  craving  shelter  for  her 
From  some  great  danger. 

Ber. 

But  you  saw  her  face  ? 

Mai. 

And  if  I  did,  think'st  thou  I  'd  trust  her  name 

To  thy  ass-ears  ?  [Strikes  him. — Exit  r.  2.  E. 

Ber. 

Fooled,  mocked  of  my  revenge ! 

The  sweetest  morsel  on  't  whipped  from  my  teeth  ! 

O,  I  could  brain  myself  with  my  own  bauble  ! 

[Enter  DelV  Aquila  l.  i.e. 
Dell'  Aquila !     He  knows.  [Aside. 

Aqu. 
Well  met,  Bertuccio  ] 
I  've  sought  thee  since  this  morning,  nay,  since  midnight. 

Ber. 
Ha! 


84  THE  fool's  revenge. 

Aqu. 

For  a  matter  much  concerns  thy  peace. 

Thou  hast  a  daughter.  \Bertuccio  starts. 

How  I  know  thou  hast 

Matters  not  to  my  story. 

Ber. 
Hush,  hush,  hush ! 

If  you  know  this,  as  you  are  Christian  man 
And  poet, — poets  should  have  softer  hearts 
Than  courts  and  camps  breed  now-a-days, —  O  keep 
The  knowledge  to  yourself! 

Aqu. 
It  is  too  late. 

Torelli  knew  it :  had  set  wolfish  eyes 
On  her 

Ber. 
Well?  well? 

Aqu. 

Had  rung  her  beauty's  praise 

Here  in  the  court — thou  hast  no  friends  here 


Ber. 
Well? 

Aqu. 

They  plotted  how  to  lure  thee  from  the  house  ; 
And  in  thy  absence  to  surprise  her  window, 
And  bear  her  off!     They  bound  me  by  an  oath 
To  keep  it  secret  from  thee,  not  from  her. 
I  swore  to  save  her,  or  to  lose  myself; 
So  found  a  desperate  means  of  speech  with  her, 
And  warned  her  of  her  danger. 

Ber. 

Thanks,  thanks,  thanks, 
But  only  warned  her ! 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  85 

Aqu. 
Placed  her  too  in  safety. 

Ber. 

0  heaven  !  where  ? 

Aqu. 
In  the  house  of  Malatesta. 

Ber. 

My  child  in  Malatesta's  house  last  night  ? 

Aqu. 
Secure ;  even  in  the  countess's  own  chamber. 

Ber. 

My  child !     My  child  ! — wronged,  murdered  ! 

Aqu. 
Ha !  by  whom  ? 

Ber. 

By  me,  by  me !     Her  father,  her  own  father, 
That  would  have  grasped  heaven's  vengeance, 
And  has  drawn 
The  bolt  on  my  own  head — and  hers — and  hers! 

Aqu. 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

Ber. 

1  counselled  the  undoing 

Of  Malatesta's  wife  ;  I  stood  and  watched, 

And  laughed  for  joy,  and  held  the  ladder  for  them, 

And  all  the  while  't  was  my  own  innocent  child. 

Look  not  so  scared  !  't  is  true !  —  I  am  not  mad ! 

She  's  here  —  now — in  their  clutches !      [Laughter  within. 

Hark,  they  laugh ! 

T  is  the  hyenas  o'er  their  prey  —  my  child! 

And  I  stand  here  and  cannot  lift  a  hand  1 


gft  THE    FOOLS    REVENGE. 

Aqu. 

Here  's  mine,  and  my  sword,  too ! 

Ber. 
0,  what  were  that 
Against  their  felon  blades  ? 

Aqu. 
True,  true  !  what  aid  ? 
Ha !  there  's  the  duchess ! 

Ber. 

I  had  forgotten  her !  [Drawing  Aquila  to  him. 

Man,  she  has  drugged  their  wine,  the  bony  Death 
Plays  cupbearer  to  them ;  if  she  drinks,  she  dies. 

[Enter  Aseanio,  with  wine. 
Look,  look.     Perchance  that  is  the  very  wine. 

[He  assumes  the  Fool's  manner. 
Halt  there,  for  the  fool's  toll.     No  wine  goes  in 
But  pays  the  fool's  toll. 

Ascan. 
Out,  knave,  stand  aside ! 

[Bertuccio  overthrows  the  flagon  from  the  salver. 

Ber. 
'T  is  forfeit  by  the  law  ! 

Ascan. 
Thy  back  shall  bleed 
To  make  it  up.  [Takes  flagon,  and  exit  L.  i.  E. 

Aqu. 

Torelli  comes :  if  he  goes  in,  could  we  but  enter  with  him  ; 
A  word  from  you  might  save  her  from  the  poison. 

[Enter  Torelli  L.  i.e. 

Tor. 

Good  day,  Sir  Poet;  stand  aside,  Sir  Fool. 

Ber. 

You  are  going  in  ?  [  Gets  between  Torelli  and  Aquila. 


THE    FOOL'S    Rb'.VKNGiL.  87 

Tor. 

Aye. 

Ber. 

There  's  a  shrewd  hiatus 
Needs  filling  at  the  table.     You  have  war 
And  love;  but,  lacking  poetry  and  folly, 
War  is  but  butchery  and  love  goes  lame. 
Tuck  us  beneath  your  wings,  sweet  Baldassare, 
And  you  '11  be  trebly  welcome. 

[Seizing  him  by  one  arm ;  motions  DelV  AquHa  to 
take  the  other. 

Tor. 

The  duke  for  once  has  shut  his  doors  against 
Both  poetry  and  folly.     He  is  cloistered 
For  grave  affairs. 

Ber. 

Tush,  tell  me  not,  sweet  gossip. 

Why,  man,  I  know  that  there  's  a  petticoat; 

And  more,  I  know  the  wearer. 

Tot. 
Thou! 

Ber. 
You  've  lost 

The  rarest  sport.     Ascolti  and  Ordelaffi 
Have  had  their  will  of  me.     For  once  I  '11  own 
You  've  turned  the  tables  fairly  on  the  fool ! 
That  our  Ginevra  should  be  Fiordelisa, 
And  poor  Bertuccio  not  know  !     Ha,  ha ! 

0  excellent!     It  was  a  sleight  of  hand 

1  shall  remember  to  my  dying  day. 

Tor. 
Nay,  and  thou  tak'st  it  so  ? 

Ber. 
How  should  I  take  it  ? 

Besides  the  pleasantness  of  it,  there  's  the  honour. 
Think,  my  poor  daughter  in  the  duke's  high  favour. 


88  THE  fool's  revenge. 

Why,  there  are  counts  by  scores 

Had  pawned  their  scutcheons 

To  come  into  such  grace.     I  warrant  now, 

You  thought  I  'd  swear  and  storm,  and  rend  yOu  all, 

So  shut  me  out.     But,  lo  you,  I  am  merry, 

And  so  shall  she  be,  if  you  '11  let  me  in ! 

But  let  me  in,  I  '11  school  the  silly  wench ; 

Teach  her  what  honour  she  has  come  to ;  thank 

The  gracious  duke,  and  play  the  merriest  antics. 

You  '11  swear  you  never  saw  me  in  such  fooling ; 

But  take  me  in. 

Tor. 

Why  now ;  the  fool  's  grown  wise  ! 

I  '11  tell  the  duke,  perchance  he  '11  let  thee  in. 

[Exit  Torelli  R.  2.  e. — Bertuccio,  exhausted  by  his 
emotions,  falls  into  chair  l. 

Aqu. 
Lives  hang  on  minutes  here.     Said  you  the  duchess 
Had  mixed  the  poison,  or  but  meant  to  mix  it  ? 

Ber. 

There  it  is,  man ;  I  know  not  which :  even  now 
Death  may  be  busy  at  her  lips :  once  in, 
In  my  mad  antics  I  might  spurn  the  board, 
And  spill  the  flagons  as  I  did  e'en  now; 
But  here  I  'm  helpless.     O,  Beelzebub ! 
Inspire  them  with  desire  to  see  a  father 
Make  laughter  of  the  undoing  of  his  child ! 
Ha !  some  one  comes :  they  '11  let  me  in ! 

Tor.  [At  the  door. 

The  duke  will  none  of  thy  ape's  tricks. 

\He  closes  the  door.     Bertuccio  falls. 

Aqu. 
What  ho !     Torelli ! 

And  you,  within,  you,  my  lord  duke,  'fore  all, 
I  do  proclaim  you  cowards,  ruffians,  beasts. 
Come  out,  if  you  be  men,  and  drive  my  challenge 
Back  in  my  throat,  if  you  've  one  heart  among  you ! 


THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE.  89 

Ber. 

You  speak  to  men ;  they  're  fiends ! 

Aqu. 
No  hope,  no  hope  ! 
Yes !  here  's  the  duchess,  she  's  a  woman  still. 

[Lifts  Bertiiccio  from  the  ground. 
[Enter  Francesco,  L.  1.  E. 

Ber.  [Rushing  to  her. 

Madam,  save  my  child ! 
The  daughter  that  I  love  more  than  my  life ! 
'T  was  she  they  seized  last  night,  and  she  's  in  there ! 

Bra. 
Your  child ! 

Ber. 

From  death,  if  not  from  wrong  that  's  worse  than  death, 
You  still  may  save  her !     Have  the  doors  burst  open  ! 
You  can  command  here  next  the  duke.     If  not, 
At  least  forbear  the  poison.  [Aside,  to  her. 

Bra.  [Asule,  to  him. 

'T  is  too  late. 
The  wine  was  here. 

Ber. 

Then  this  alone  remains. 

Help  me,  Aquila ;  help  to  burst  the  door ! 

[  They  break  open  the  door  and  rush  out,  followed 
by  Francesca.  Quick  change  to  Banquet  Hall. 
Table  c.  Manfredi,  Fiordelisa,  Malatesta, 
Ordelaffi,  Ascolti,  Torelli,  and  Attendants,  dis- 
covered. 

Ber.  and  Aqu.  [  Without. 

Drink  not,  my  lords  ! 
Your  wine  is  poisoned  ! 

[Manfredi  staggers  from  his  seat  and  falls  dead  L. 
Malatesta  and  others  form  group  near  him. 
Fiordelisa  screams,  rushes  toward r.,  and  faints 
in  the  arms  of  Dell'  Aquila,  tuho  enters,  with 
Bertuccio, 


go  THE    FOOL'S    REVENGE. 

All  the  Nobles. 
Who  did  this  deed  ? 


I! 


Ber.        \Leaping  upon  the  table. 

[Ordelaffi  and  Ascolti  stab  Ber/uccio,  iv ho  plunges 
forward  and  falls,  but  is  not  killed.  —  Entet 
Francesca. 

Era. 
He  lies !     'T  was  I ! 
Before  all  men  I  '11  answer  this. 

Ber.    [  Crawling  to  his  daughter. 

Before  heaven's  judgment  seat 

How  shall  I  answer  this  ?  [Indicating  his  daughter. 

Dead!  dead!     My  bird — 

My  lily  flower — gone  to  thy  last  account, 

All  sinless  as  thou  wert  ?     My  fool's  revenge, 

Ends  but  in  this.     Cold  !  cold! 

Ha !  a  breath !     She  lives !  she  lives ! 

Say  some  of  you,  "  She  drank  not,"  and  I  '11  bless 

The  man  that  says  so ;  yea,  so  pray  for  him 

As  saints  ne'er  prayed ! 

Fio. 
Father ! 

Tor. 

She  never  drank !     Thou  hast  her  pure  as  when 
She  kissed  thy  lips  last  night ! 

Ber. 

O,  bless  you,  bless  you  ! 

But,  alas !  my  child,  I  soon  must  leave  thee ! 

My  life  ebbs  fast.     To  thee,  Aquila,  thee — 

The  one  true  heart  in  all  Faeuza, 

Do  I  bequeath  my  all ! 

[Bertuccio  joins  the  hands  of  DelP  Aquila  and 

Eiordelisa. —  They  raise  and  support  him  to  a 

chair. 


THE    FOOL'S,  REVENGE.  91 

Mai. 
Madam,  you  are  our  prisoner [  To  Francesco,. 

Fra.  {Interrupting  him. 

Prisoner  ? 

My  father,  Giovanni  Bentivoglio, 
Stands  at  your  gates,  in  arms.     Let  who  will  question 
Francesca  Bentivoglio  of  this  deed.  [Exit  r.  u.  e. 

Mai.  [  To  Bertuccio. 

Thou  miscreant !  what  urged  thee  on  to  this  ? 


Vengeance ! 
Father ! 


Ber. 

Fio. 

Ber. 
Aye,  vengeance. 
Guido  Malatesta — 

In  me  behold  the  wretched  man  whose  wife, 
Long  years  ago,  you  stole  —  you  murdered!  — 
Antonio  Bordiga! 

Mai. 

[Falling,  horror-stricken,  into  chair,  and  hiding  his 
face. 
You! 

Ber. 

Ay:  —  thirsting  for  revenge,  I  moved  the  duke 

To  carry  off  your  innocent  Ginevra — 

Yoiir  wife ! 

Though  foiled,  and  slain,  yet  do  I  triumph  here, 

And  thou  shalt  feel,  at  last,  the  Fool's  revenge ! 

Guido  Malatesta,  with  my  dying  breath, 


92  THE    FOOLS    REVENGE. 

Fio. 

{Interrupting,  and  clinging  to  him. 
No!  no!     Father! 

Ber. 

I I  forgive  thee.  [He  falls. 

Ah,  thou  saidst  well,  my  child  : 

Vengeance  is  God's  prerogative — not  man's: 

I  have  usurped  it.     Pray,  O,  pray  for  me. 

[Fiordelisa  supports  his  head. 

Fio. 
Father !  [Bertuccio  dies. 

CURTAIN. 


THE    FOOL'S   REVENGE. 

APPENDIX. 

I.— The  Author  of  The  Fool's  Revenge. 

TOM  TAYLOR,  the  author  of  "The  Fool's  Revenge,"  was  bom 
at  Sunderland,  in  England,  in  1817.  He  received  his  education 
at  the  Grange  School  in  that  place,  and  at  Glasgow  University 
and  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge ;  and  he  was  graduated  with  honours. 
He  subsequently  held,  for  two  years,  the  Professorship  of  English  Lan- 
guage and  Literature,  at  the  University  College,  London ;  but  in  1845 
was  called  to  the  Bar  of  the  Inner  Temple.  A  few  years  later  he  entered 
the  Civil  Service  of  Great  Britain,  with  which  for  a  long  time  he  was 
honourably  connected,  and  from  which  he  was  finally  retired  with  a 
pension.  Tom  Taylor  is  the  author  of  many  plays,  and  the  adapter  of 
many  more.  Prominent  among  the  pieces  with  which  his  name  is 
associated  are  "  Still  Waters  Run  Deep,"  "  An  Unequal  Match,"  "  The 
Ticket-of-Leave-Man,"  "  Twixt  Axe  and  Crown,"  "The  Contested 
Election,"  "The  Overland  Route,"  "Anne  Boleyn,"  "Joan  of  Arc," 
"New  Men  and  Old  Acres,"  "  Clancarty,"  "  Henry  Dunbar,"  and  "  Our 
American  Cousin." 

This  author  has  likewise  distinguished  himself  in  other  branches  of 
literature.  He  compiled  and  edited,  in  1853,  the  "Autobiography  of 
B.  R.  Haydon  ;  "  and,  in  1859,  the  "  Autobiography  and  Correspondence 
of  the  late  C.  R.  Leslie,  R.  A."  He  also  completed,  in  1865,  Leslie's 
unfinished  work  on  "The  Life  and  Times  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds." 
He  was  one  of  the  original  staff  of  Once  a  Week,  and  he  succeeded  the 
lamented  Shirley  Brooks  as  editor  of  Punch.  His  labours  as  a  journalist 
and  a  newspaper  correspondent  have  been  continuous,  onerous,  diversified 
and  successful.  Few  literary  men  of  our  time  have  worked  as  faithfully 
and  conscientiously,  and  none  has  better  deserved  the  rewards  of  pros- 
perity and  honourable  fame.  W.  W. 

II.— Costume  for  The  Fool's  Revenge. 

The  following  passage,  indicative  of  the  style  of  dress  proper  to  be 
used  in  the  representation  of  this  piece,  is  copied  from  Csesar  Vecellio's 


91  APPENDIX. 

book  on  Costume  — "  Habiti  Antichi  e  Moderni,"  Venice,  1598.  It 
refers  to  usages  in  apparel,  in  Italy,  in  the  period  of  this  play. 

"  The  ladies  wore  a  balzo  [head-dress],  of  various  colours,  composed 
of  a  tissue  of  gold  or  of  silk,  and  worked  with  a  representation  of  flowers, 
or  with  other  designs.  They  also  carried  gold  chains,  girdles  of  great 
value,  and  fans,  with  highly  ornamented  holders.  Their  shoulders  were 
covered  with  a  sort  of  plaited  collar,  or  neckerchief  [barero],  of  linen  or 
of  cambric.  The  gown  was  generally  of  damask,  of  a  crimson  or  violet 
colour,  having  a  lower  border,  six  inches  wide.  The  sleeves  were 
slashed  and  puffed,  permitting  the  chemise  to  show  through.  The 
cuffs,  in  which  the  arms  of  the  chemise  ended,  accorded  in  style  with  the 
collar.  The  bodice,  when  worn,  consisted  of  tissue  of  gold,  and 
was  unusually  long.  Sometimes  the  robe  was  made  so  long  as  to  trail 
on  the  ground. 

"  The  men  wore  on  their  heads  a  balzo  similar  to  that  of  the  women, 
made  of  leather,  and  round  like  a  diadem.  Above  this  they  placed  a 
head-dress  composed  of  a  tissue  of  gold  or  silk.  The  shirt  had  a  plaited 
bosom,  and  a  low,  ruffled  collar.  The  waist  of  the  coat  was  short,  and 
the  skirt  reached  to  the  knees  ;  the  sleeves  were  full,  and  extended  to  the 
elbow ;  the  shirt-sleeves,  which  were  provided  with  ruffled  cuffs,  covered 
the  rest  of  the  arm.  The  coat  was  ornamented  with  broad,  coloured 
bands,  made  of  cloth  of  gold,  or  velvet,  or  other  material.  The  shoes 
were  of  velvet." 

It  is  further  stated  by  Vecellio  that  the  garment  now  known  as  an 
"arm-hole  cloak"  was  sometimes  worn  over  the  attire  first  described. 
This  was  made  of  silk  or  velvet,  and  depended  to  the  ankles.  It  was 
embellished  with  a  broad,  turn-over  collar,  sometimes  made  of  fur,  and 
with  hanging  sleeves,  which  might  be  worn  over  those  of  the  coat  and 
shirt.  The  breeches  were  slashed  and  puffed,  and  were  fastened  below 
the  knee.     The  shoes  were  very  broad  at  the  toes. 

Bertuccio  should,  of  course,  wear  motley.  The  hood  of  the  court 
jester  was  garnished  with  ass's  ears,  and  he  commonly  carried  a  bauble 
in  his  hand.  Bertuccio's  position  at  the  court  of  Manfredi  is  analogous 
to  that  of  Touchstone  at  the  court  of  Frederick,  in  "As  You  Like  It." 

III.— The  Element  of  Deformity. 

"A  jealous,  misanthropical,  and  irritable  temper  was  his  prominent 
characteristic.  The  sense  of  his  deformity  haunted  him  like  a  phantom, 
and  the  insults  and  scorn  to  which  this  exposed  him  had  poisoned  his 
heart  with  fierce  and  bitter  feelings,  which,   from  other  points  in  his 


APPENDIX.  05 

character,  do  not  appear  to  have  been  more  largely  infused  into  his 
original  temperament  than  that  of  his  fellow-men.  *  *  *  The  heart 
and  the  doors  that  are  shut  against  every  other  earthly  being  shall  open 
to  thee  and  to  thy  sorrows.  *  *  *  Look  at  every  book  which  we 
have  read  —  those  excepted  of  that  abstract  philosophy  which  finds  no 
responsive  voice  in  our  natural  feelings.  Is  not  personal  form,  such  as 
at  least  can  be  tolerated  without  horror  and  disgust,  always  represented 
as  essential  to  our  ideas  of  a  friend,  far  more  a  lover  ?  Is  not  such  a 
misshapen  monster  as  I  am  excluded  by  the  very  fiat  of  Nature  from  her 
fairest  enjoyments  ?  *  *  *  The  scoff  of  the  rabble  and  the  sneer  of 
the  yet  more  vulgar  of  his  own  rank  were  to  him  agony  and  breaking 
on  the  wheel.  *  *  *  It  was  as  if  the  last  cable  at  which  the  vessel 
rode  had  suddenly  parted,  and  left  her  abandoned  to  all  the  wild  fury  of 
the  tempest." 

Sir  Walter  Scott's  Novel  of  "The  Black  Dwarf." 

IV.— Substance  and  Drift  of  The  Fool's  Revenge. 

The  terror  that  subdues  the  mind  and  the  pity  that  melts  the  heart 
unite  in  elevating  the  moral  and  spiritual  tone  of  humanity.  They  make 
mankind  more  virtuous  and  more  humane ;  and  therein  they  exert  an 
influence  which  blesses  the  world.  Both  these  forces  are  aroused  and 
stimulated  by  the  tragedy  of  "The  Fool's  Revenge."  It  is  a  gloomy 
piece,  but  it  is  full  of  power.  It  is  adroitly  constructed,  vigourously 
written,  and  animated  by  a  swift,  exciting,  propulsive,  and  indomitable 
movement  toward  a  climax  ;  and  it  tells  a  terrible  story  of  good  and 
evil  passions.  Its  main  motive  is  to  rebuke  the  wickedness  of  human 
vengeance.  Its  literary  and  dramatic  substance  consists  in  the  analysis 
of  an  exceptional  phase  of  human  nature.  It  depicts  the  love,  the 
suffering,  the  rage,  the  hate,  the  frenzy,  the  mingling  of  angel  and 
demon,  and— finally  —  the  awful  fate  of  a  man  of  austere  mind  and 
tender  heart  shut  up  in  a  deformed  body,  and  burdened  with  a  tremen- 
dous experience  of  cruelty  and  anguish. 

The  tragedy,  in  its  English  transformation,  is  free  from  all  the  grossness 
of  Victor  Hugo's  "  Le  Roi  s'Amuse,"  upon  which,  remotely,  it  is  based. 
Bertuccio,  when  first  presented  in  it  —  as  the  Court  Fool  to  Count 
Maafredi,  the  Lord  of  Faenza,— has  suffered  a  pathetic  bereavement. 
The  poor  creature  remembers'  a  happy  home,  wherein  he  was  blessed 
with  the  love  of  an  affectionate,  faithful  wife.  That  wife  was  torn  from 
him,  by  a  ruthless  noble  ;  and  it  is  to  avenge  this  outrage  that  Bertuccio 
now  lives  and  labours.  He  has  been  crazed  ;  but  the  cloud  of  lunacy 
has  lifted,  and  the  wreck  of  deformed  manhood  that  now  remains  is 


0.6  APPENDIX. 

animated  by  one  love,  one  hate,  and  one  fearful  purpose.  The  love  is 
for  his  daughter ;  the  hate  is  for  his  wronger ;  the  purpose  is  revenge. 
The  scheme  that  Bertuccio  forms  is  to  counsel  his  employer,  Manfredi  — 
a  wicked,  powerful,  unscrupulous  man  —  to  abduct  the  wife  of  his  arch- 
enemy, Count  Malatesta.  The  first  act  of  the  drama  shows  the  relations 
of  these  persons  and  the  unfolding  of  this  plot.  The  second  act  shows 
how,  by  a  series  of  circumstances,  strangely  yet  naturally  contrived,  the 
daughter  of  Bertuccio  was  substituted  for  the  Countess  Malatesta,  and 
how  the  unfortunate  Jester  ignorantly  became  a  party  to  the  forcible 
carrying  off  of  his  own  child.  The  third  act  depicts, —  first  his  demoniac 
glee,  in  thinking  over  the  consummation  of  his  insane  vengeance ;  then 
his  paroxysms  of  anguish,  consequent  on  the  discovery  of  what  has 
really  chanced  ;  and  finally  his  rescue  of  his  daughter,  and  his  death. 

Physical  deformity  has  seldom  been  borne  with  patience.  It  reacts  on 
the  nature  that  it  incloses.  It  saddens  or  it  embitters.  A  deformed  man 
is  usually  reticent  and  secretive.  He  shrinks  from  contact  or  observa- 
tion. He  suspects,  on  every  hand,  pity,  contempt,  aversion,  or  ridicule. 
He  is  morbidly  sensitive.  He  withdraws  his  life  from  the  obvious  and 
sun-lit  pathways  of  the  world,  and  dwells  in  solitary  and  sequestered 
places ;  and  there  he  nurses  his  emotions,  whether  of  love  or  hate,  till 
they  acquire  intense  strength.  If  he  be  a  man  of  deep  heart  and  proud 
mind,  and  if  his  nature  be  illumined  by  the  light  of  genius,  he  will 
develop  an  amazing  individuality.  Pope  and  Byron  come  out  of  literary 
history  as  ready  examples  of  this  truth.  These,  of  course,  are  exponents 
of  an  exceptional  class ;  but,  as  the  same  human  nature  runs  through 
all  classes,  the  same  general  results  are  apparent  in  all  the  victims  of 
deformity.  The  deformed  man  is  placed  at  a  disadvantage,  and  the 
cruel  fact  shapes  and  colours  his  whole  experience.  That  experience, 
accordingly,  attracts  the  analytical  student  of  life,  and  stimulates  the 
imaginative  literary  artist,  by  suggesting  sharp  dramatic  contrasts.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  has  delineated  phases  of  it  with  great  vigour  of  treatment, 
and  in  a  singularly  beautiful  atmosphere  of  romance,  in  his  novel  of 
"  The  Black  Dwarf."  Other  authors  have  touched  upon  it,  with  more  or 
less  success  ;  but  no  other  great  writer  seems  to  have  brooded  over  it  so 
deeply  as  Victor  Hugo  has,  for  the  purposes  of  art.  To  remind  the 
reader  of  his  Quasimodo,  is  at  once  to  illustrate  this  meaning  and  to 
suggest  a  representative  embodiment  of  this  exceptional  individuality. 
Bertuccio  is,  in  some  respects,  a  companion  portrait ;  and  certainly  one 
of  the  most  affecting  images  in  all  literature  of  the  misery  that  laughs. 

New-York,  October  26th,  1878.  W.  W. 


BRUTUS 


VOL.    Ill 


preface* 


r  I  V//.V  version  of  "  Brutus  "  presents  much  alteration  of 
■*■  the  tragedy  from  the  form  in  which  it  stands  among 
the  authentic  works  of  JoJm  Howard  Payne.  The  changes 
originated,  for  the  most  part,  with  the  once  eminent  and 
honoured  tragedian,  James  Stark — now  dead  and  at  rest 
after  many  trials  and  sorrows.  They  were  supplemented 
with  further  emendations,  ?nade  by  John  McCullough, — 
from  whom  the  Editor  of  this  volume  has  derived  several 
useful  suggestions  for  the  improvement  of  the  piece, — and 
by  Edwin  Booth,  whose  choice  of  the  text  and  whose 
stage-directions  are  herein  pursued  and  embodied.  In  this 
version  the  tragedy  opens  with  what,  in  the  author's  book, 
is  the  first  scene  of  act  second ;  proceeds  with  the  first  scene 
of  act  first  and  the  third  scene  of  act  second ;  and  ends  its  first 
act  with  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  of  the  original. 
Act  second  opens  with  the  third  scene  of  act  first,  and 
closes  with  the  first  scene — that  of  the  imprecation  upon 
Sextus — of  act  third.  The  first  two  acts  are  thus  made 
to  present  all  the  important  characters  in  clearly  defined 
relations  to  each  other  and  to  the  dra?natic  scheme;  while 
the  crime  against  Lucretia  and  the  masquerade  practised  by 
Brutus  are  vividly  displayed,  and  two  endings  are  obtained, 
of  prodigious  strength,  in  which  Brutus  is  the  predominant 


figure.  The  excisions  include  the  second  scene  of  the  second 
act,  in  which  Brutus  bids  Titus  to  renounce  Tarquinia; 
the  second  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  in  which  are  explanatory 
colloquies  that  prove  superfluous ;  and  the  latter  part  of  the 
first  scene  of  act  fifth,  in  which  the  lovers  are  slowly 
parted,  with  lametitable  and  frantic  words.  Act  third 
begins  with  Lucretid's  dying  speech  and  suicide  —  restored 
from  the  note  to  which  they  were  banished  by  the  author, 
after  the  first  representation  of  the  tragedy,  i?i  deference  to  a 
critical  judgment  of  the  time.  "Brutus,"  the  author 
intimates,  was  built  upon  the  basis  of  seven  earlier  plays, 
illust)-ative  of  its  subject.  This  Roma?i  hero — if  that  be, 
indeed,  the  right  ivord  to  designate  a  father  who  destroys 
his  son  for  what,  after  all,  was  but  a  venial  offence  against 
the  State — has  been  glorified  by  Downman,  Cumberland, 
Lee,  Dimcombe,  and  others — all  anterior  to  Payne.  The 
world  seems  much  to  admire  the  virtue  of  which  its 
humanity  is  incapable.  Payne's  "Brutus  "  was  first  acted, 
December  j,  1818,  at  JDrury  Lane,  Lo?idon,  with  Edmutid 
Keari  in  the  chief  part.  Its  first  representation  in  America 
occurred  on  March  13,  i8ip,  at  the  Park  Theatre,  New- 
York,  with  James  Pritchard  as  Brutus.  Edwin  Forrest, 
Junius  Brutus  Booth,  and  others,  have  since  been  seen  in 
this  character,  oti  the  American  stage.  The  piece  is  valu- 
able for  its  tumultuous  action,  for  its  splendid  pictorial 
effects,  for  its  moments  of  pathos,  for  its  lofty  ideal  of 
patriotism,  and  for  the  apt  strength  with  which  it  inculcates 
the  awful  holiness  of  chastity,  the  dignity  of  honour,  and  the 
value  of  freedom. 

W.  W. 

New-  York,  July  4th,  1878. 


prologue  to  2£>mtu£. 


Written  by  Rev.  George  Croly.     Spoken  by   H.  Kemble,  +-t 
Drury  Lane,  December  3,  1818. 

* 

Time  rushes  o'er  us ;  thick  as  evening  clouds, 
Ages  roll  back: — what  calls  them  from  their  shrouds? 
What  in  full  vision  brings  their  good  and  great, 
The  men  whose  virtues  make  the  nation's  fate, 
The  far,  forgotten  stars  of  humankind  ? 
The  STAGE  —  the  mighty  telescope  of  mind  ! 
If  later,  luckless  arts  that  stage  profane, 
The  actor  pleads  —  not  guilty  of  the  stain  : 
He  but  the  shadow  flung  on  fashion's  tide: 
Yours  the  high  will  that  all  its  waves  must  guide: 
Your  voice  alone  the  great  reform  secures : 
His  but  the  passing  hour  —  the  age  is  yours. 

Our  pledge  is  kept.     Here  yet  no  chargers  wheel, 
No  foreign  slaves  on  ropes  or  scaffolds  reel, 
No  Gallick  amazons,  half  naked,  climb 
From  pit  to  gallery  —  the  low  sublime  1 
In  Shakespeare's  halls  shall  dogs  and  bears  engage? 
Where  brutes  are  actors  be  a  booth  the  stage  ! 
And  we  shall  triumph  yet.     The  cloud  has  hung 
Darkly  above  —  but  day  shall  spring — has  sprung: 
The  tempest  has  but  swept,  not  shook  the  shrine; 
No  lamp  that  genius  lit  has  ceased  to  shine! 
Still  lives  its  sanctity.     Around  the  spot 
Hover  high  spirits  —  shapes  of  burning  thought - 
Viewless;  but  call  them,  on  the  dazzled  eye 
Descends  their  pomp  of  immortality : 


Here,  at  your  voice,  Rowe,  Otway,  Southern    come 

Flashing  like  meteors  through  the  age's  gloom. 

Perpetual  here — king  of  th'  immortal  band, 

Sits  Shakespeare  crowned.     He  lifts  the  golden  wand, 

And  all  obey; — the  visions  of  the  past 

Rise  as  they  lived — soft,  splendid,  regal,  vast. 

Then  Ariel  harps  along  the  enchanted  wave, 

Then  the  weird  sisters  thunder  in  their  cave; 

The  spell  is  wound.     Then  shows  his  mightier  art 

The  Moor's  lost  soul;  the  hell  of  Richard's  heart; 

And  stamps,  in  fiery  warning  to  all  time, 

"The  deep  damnation"  of  a  tyrant's  crime. 

To-night  we  take  our  lesson  from  the  tomb : 
'T  is  thy  sad  cenotaph,  colossal  Rome ! 

How  is  thy  helmet  cleft,  thy  banner  low ; 
Ashes  and  dust  are  all  thy  glory  now ! 
While  o'er  thy  wreck  a  host  of  monks  and  slaves 
Totter  to  "seek  dishonourable  graves." 
The  story  is  of  Brutus :  in  that  name 
Towered  to  the  sun  her  eagle's  wing  of  flame ! 
When  sank  her  liberty,  that  name  of  power 
Poured  hallowed  splendours  round  its  dying  hour. 
The  lesson  lived  for  man;  that  heavenward  blaze 
Fixed  on  the  pile  the  world's  eternal  gaze. 

Unrivalled  England !  to  such  memories  thou 
This  hour  dost  owe  the  laurel  on  thy  brow ; 
Those  fixed,  when  earth  was  like  a  grave,  thy  tread, 
Prophet  and  warrior,  'twixt  the  quick  and  dead: 
Those  bade  thee  war  for  man ;  those  won  the  name 
That  crowns  thee — famed  above  all  Roman  fame. 

Now,  to  our  scene — we  feel  no  idle  fear, 
Sure  of  the  hearts,  the  British  justice  here: 
If  we  deserve  it,  sure  of  your  applause  — 
Then,  hear  for  Rome,  for  England,  for  "our  cause." 


* 


"Brutus,  who  plucked  the  knife  from  Lucrece"  side, 

Seeing  such  emulation  in  their  woe, 
Began  to  clothe  his  wit  in  state  and  pride, 

Burying  in  Lucrece'  zvound  his  folly's  show. 

He  with  the  Romans  was  esteemed  so 
As  silly,  jeering  idiots  are  7vith  kings, 
For  sportive  words,  and  uttering  foolish  things. 

"But  now  he  throws  that  shallow  habit  by. 

Wherein  deep  policy  did  him  disguise; 
And  armed  his  long-hid  wits  advisedly. 

To  check  the  tears  in  Collatinus'  eyes. 

'Thou  wronged  lord  of  Rome,'  quoth  he,  'arise; 
Let  my  unsounded  self  ,  supposed  a  fool, 
Now  set  thy  long-experienced  wit  to  school.    . 

"  'Courageous  Roman,  do  not  steep  thy  heart 

In  such  relenting  dew  of  lamentations : 
But  kneel  with  me,  and  help  to  bear  thy  part. 

To  rouse  our  Roman  gods  with  invocations, 

That  they  will  suffer  these  abominations, 
[Since  Rome  herself  in  them  doth  stand  disgraced], 
By  our  strong  arms  from  forth  her  fair  streets  chased. 

"  'Now  by  the  Capitol  that  toe  adore, 

And  by  this  chaste  blood  so  unjustly  stained, 
By  heaven' s  fair  sun,  that  breeds  the  fat  earth's  store, 
By  all  our  country  rights  in  Rome  maintained, 
And  by  chaste  Lucrece'  soul,  that  late  complained 
Her  -wrongs  to  us,  and  by  this  bloody  knife, 
1 1  'e  will  revenge  the  death  of  this  true  wife.' 

"This  said,  he  struck  his  hand  upon  his  breast, 
And  kissed  the  fatal  knife,  to  end  his  vow, 
And  to  his  protestation  urged  the  rest, 

Who,  -wondering  at  him,  did  his  words  allow  : 
Then  jointly  to  the  ground  their  knees  they  bow, 
And  that  deep  vow  which  Brutus  made  before, 
He  doth  again  repeat,  and  that  they  swore." 

Shakespeare. 


J&rr£ott£  ftqpregentcth 


* 


Sextus,       ^| 

Aruns,         >  Sons  to  Tarquin  The  Proud,  King  of  Rome. 

Claudius,  J 

Collatinus. 

Lucius  Junius,  sumamed  Brutus. 

Titus,  Son  to  Lucius  Junius. 

Valerius,    ^ 

LUCRETIUS,   \  Roman  Patricians. 

HORATIUS,     J 

CORUNNA,  a  Roman  General. 

A  Centurion. 

A  Messenger. 

First  Roman. 

Second  Roman. 

Third  Roman. 

Tullia,   Wife  to  Tarquin,  and  Queen  of  Rome. 

Tarquinia,  Daughter  to   Tullia. 

LUCRETIA,    Wife  to  Collatinus,  and  Daughter  to  Lucretius. 

Lavinia,  Maid  to  Lucretia. 

Priestess  of  Rhea. 

A  Vestal. 

Lictors,    Soldiers,    Citizens,   Attendants,    Vestals, 
etc. 


plate  anti  €imc. 


Scene. — In   Rome ;    in  Collatia ;    and  in  the   Camp  before 

Ardea. 
Period.— 309  B.  C. 

Time  of  Action.— About  four  days. 


BRUTUS; 

OR,    THE   FALL   OF   TARQUIN. 


* 


§>cene  JFust. 


f  The  Tent  of  Sextus,  in  the  Camp, 
before  ardea.  table  spread  for 
Banquet.  Sextus,  Aruns,  Claudius, 
and  collatinus  discovered,  feast- 
ING. 


Sex. 
Come,  then,  here  's  to  the  fairest  nymph  in  Italy, 
And  she  's  in  Rome. 

Aruns. 

Here  's  to  the  fairest  nymph  in  Italy ; 
And  she  is  not  in  Rome. 

Sex, 
Where  is  she,  then  ? 

Aruns. 
Ask  Collatine ;  he  '11  swear  she  's  at  Collatia. 

Sex. 

His  wife ! 

Aruns. 
Even  so. 

Clau. 
Is  it  so,  Collatine  ? 

Well,  't  is  praiseworthy,  in  this  vicious  age, 
To  see  a  young  man  true  to  his  own  spouse. 


IO  BRUTUS. 

O,  't  is  a  vicious  age !     When  I  behold 
One  who  is  bold  enough  to  steer  against 
The  wind  of  tide  and  custom,  I  behold  him 
With  veneration.     'T  is  a  vicious  age ! 

Col. 

Laugh  on,  though  I  'm  the  subject !     If  to  love 
My  wife  's  ridiculous,  I  '11  join  the  laugh ; 
Though  I  '11  not  say  if  I  laugh  at,  or  with  you ! 

Aruns. 

The  conscious  wood  was  witness  to  his  sighs, 
The  conscious  Dryads  wiped  their  watery  eyes, 
For  they  beheld  the  wight  forlorn,  to-day, 
And  so  did  I ;  — but  I  shall  not  betray. 
Here  now  he  is,  however,  thanks  to  me; — 
That  is,  his  semblance,  for  his  soul  dwells  hence. 
How  was  it  when  you  parted  ?     She :  "  My  love, 
Fear  not,  good  sooth,  I  '11  very  constant  prove." 

[Spoken  in  satirical  mimicry. 
He:  "  So  will  I,  for wheresoe'er  I  steer, 
T  is  but  my  mortal  clay ;  my  soul  is  here." 

[All  laugh  except  Collatinus. 

Sex. 

And  prithee,  Collatine,  in  what  array 

Did  the  god  Hymen  come  to  thee  ?  how  dressed, 

And  how  equipped  ?     I  fear  me  much  he  left 

His  torch  behind,  so  that  thou  couldst  not  see 

A  fault  in  thy  beloved ;  or  was  the  blaze 

So  burning  bright  that  thy  bedazzled  eyes 

Have  since  refused  their  office  ? 

Col. 

And  doth  Sextus 

Judge  by  his  own  experience,  then,  of  others  ? 
To  him,  I  make  no  doubt,  hath  Hymen's  torch 
Discovered  faults  enough  ;  what  pity  't  was 
He  had  not  likewise  brought  i'  th'  other  hand 
A  mirror,  where  the  prince  might  read  himself. 


BRUTUS.  II 

Sex. 

I  like  thee  now :  thou  'rt  gay,  and  I  '11  be  grave. 
As  to  those  dear,  delicious  creatures,  women, 
Hear  what  my  own  experience  has  taught  me : 
I  've  ever  found  'em  fickle,  artful,  amorous, 
Fruitful  in  schemes  to  please  their  changeful  fancies, 
And  fruitful  in  resources  when  discovered. 
They  love  unceasingly,  they  never  change — 
O,  never  !  —  no !  —  excepting  in  the  object. 
Love  of  new  faces  is  their  first  great  passion ; 
Then  love  of  riches,  grandeur,  and  attention. 
Knowing  all  this,  I  seek  not  constancy, 
But,  to  anticipate  their  wishes,  rove, 
Humour  their  darling  passion,  and  am  blest. 

Col. 

This  is  the  common  cant  —  the  stale,  gross,  idle, 
Unmeaning  jargon  —  of  all  those,  who,  conscious 
Of  their  own  littleness  of  soul,  avoid 
With  timid  eye  the  face  of  modest  virtue ; 
Who,  mingling  only  with  the  base,  and  flushed 
With  triumphs  over  those  they  dare  attack, 
The  weak,  the  forward,  or  depraved,  declare — 
And  fain  would  make  their  shallow  notions  current — 
That  womankind  are  all  alike,  and  hoot 
At  virtue,  wheresoe'er  she  passes  by  them. 
I  have  seen  sparks  like  these,  and  I  have  seen 
A  little  worthless  village  cur  all  night 
Bay  with  incessant  noise  the  silver  moon, 
While  she,  serene,  throned  in  her  pearled  car, 
Sailed  in  full  state  along  :  but  Sextus'  judgment 
Owns  not  his  words,  and  the  resemblance  glances 
On  others,  not  on  him. 

Sex. 

Let  it  glance  where  and  upon  whom  it  will, 
Sextus  is  mighty  careless  of  the  matter. 
Now  hear  what  I  have  seen.     I  've  seen  young  men, 
Who,  having  fancied  they  have  found  perfection 


12  BRUTUS. 

Col. 

Sextus,  no  more  —  lest  I  forget  myself, 

And  thee.     I  tell  thee,  prince [All  rise. 

Aruns. 
Nay,  hold ! 
Sextus,  you  go  too  far. 

Sex. 

Why,  pray,  good  sir,  may  I  not  praise  the  wife 
Of  this  same  testy,  froward  husband  here, 
But  on  his  cheek  offence  must  quivering  sit, 
And  fancied  insult? — the  abortive  child 
Of  misconstruction,  whose  near-sighted  eye 
Discerns  not  jest  from  real ! 

Col. 

I  heed  you  not — jest  on;  I  '11  aid  your  humour: 

Let  Aruns  use  me  for  his  princely  laughter, 

Let  Claudius  deck  me  with  ironic  praise; 

But  when  you  touch  a  nearer,  dearer  subject — 

Perish  the  man,  nay,  may  he  doubly  perish, 

Who  can  sit  still,  and  hear,  with  skulking  coolness, 

The  least  abuse,  or  shadow  of  a  slight, 

Cast  on  the  woman  whom  he  loves! 

Aruns. 

If  that  a  man  might  dare  to  ope  his  lips 
When  Collatinus  frowns,  I  would  presume 
To  say  one  word  in  praise  of  my  own  wife ; 
And  I  will  say,  could  our  eyes  stretch  to  Rome, 
In  spite  of  the  perfections  of  Lucretia, 
My  wife,  who  loves  her  fireside,  and  hates  gadding, 
Would  prove  far  otherwise  employed — and  better, 
Ay,  better,  as  a  woman,  than  the  deity 
Residing  at  Collatia. 

Sex.  [Aside. 

Well  timed  !     I  '11  seize  the  occasion, 
View  this  Lucretia  ere  I  sleep,  and  satisfy 


BRUTUS.  13 

My  senses  whether  fame  has  told  the  truth. 

I  '11  stake  my  life  on  't — let  us  mount  our  horses, 

[  To  Collatinus. 
And  post  away  this  instant  towards  Rome — 
That  we  shall  find  thy  wife,  and  his,  and  his, 
Making  the  most  of  this,  their  liberty. 
Why,  't  is  the  sex  :  enjoying  to  the  full 
The  swing  of  licence  which  their  husbands'  absence 
Affords.     I  '11  stake  my  life  that  this  is  true, 
And  that  my  own  —  ill  as  I  may  deserve  it  — 
Knows  her  state  best,  keeps  best  within  the  bounds 
Her  matron  duties  claim ;  that  she  's  at  home, 
While  yours  are  feasting  at  their  neighbours'  houses. 
What  say'st  thou,  Collatine,  on  rioting  at  home  ? 

Col. 

Had  I  two  lives,  I  'd  stake  them  on  the  trial, 
Nor  fear  to  live  both  out. 

Sex. 
Let  us  away. 

Come,  come,  my  Collatinus,  droop  not  thus, 
Be  gay. 

Col. 
I  am  not  sad 

Sex. 
But  fearful  for  th'  event. 

Col. 
Not  in  the  least. 

Sex. 
A  little. 

Col. 
Not  a  whit : 
You  do  not  know  Lucretia. 

Sex. 
But  we  shall. 
Let 's  lose  no  time.     Come,  brothers,  let  's  away ! 

[  Exeunt. — Change. 

2 


14  BRUTUS. 

« ~      „v  (A  Street  in  Rome.     Enter  Valerius 

gctnt  &econ5.  {     AND  LucRETIUS. 

Val. 

Words  are  too  feeble  to  express  the  horror 
With  which  my  soul  revolts  against  this  Tarquin. 
By  poison  he  obtained  his  brother's  wife; 
Then  by  a  baser  murder  grasped  the  crown. 
These  eyes  beheld  the  aged  monarch  thrown 
Down  from  the  Senate-House,  his  feeble  limbs 
Bruised  by  the  pavement,  his  time-honoured  locks, 
Which  from  the  very  robber  would  have  gained 
Respect  and  veneration,  bathed  in  blood : 
With  difficulty  raised,  and  tottering  homeward, — 
The  murderers  followed — struck  him — and  he  died. 

Lucretius. 
Inexpiable  crime ! 

Val. 

High  in  her  regal  chariot  Tullia  came. 
The  corse  lay  in  the  street :  the  charioteer 
Tugged  back  the  steeds  in  horror.     "  On,  slave,  on! 
Shall  dead  men  stop  my  passage  to  a  throne  ?  " 
Exclaimed  the  parricide.     The  gore  was  dashed 
From  the  hot  wheels  up  to  her  diadem. 

Lucretius. 

And  heaven's  avenging  lightnings  were  withheld. 
Here  rules  this  Tullia,  while  the  king,  her  husband, 
Wastes  our  best  blood  in  giddy,  guilty  war. 
Spirit  of  Marcus  Junius !  would  the  gods 
Deign  to  diffuse  thy  daring  through  the  land, 
Rome  from  her  trance  with  giant  spirit  would  start, 
Dash  off  her  fetters,  and  amaze  the  world. 

Val. 

Junius,  didst  say  ?     O,  tyranny  long  since 
Had  sunk,  chained — buried,  in  its  native  hell! 
But  Tarquin,  trembling  at  his  virtues,  murdered 


BRUTUS.  15 

Him  and  his  elder  son.  The  younger,  Lucius, 
Then  on  his  travels,  'scaped  the  tyrant's  sword, 
Rut  lost  his  reason  at  their  fearful  fall. 

Lucretius. 
Ay,  the  same  Lucius,  who  now  dwells  with  Tarquin, 
The  jest,  the  fool,  the  laughing-stock  o'  th'  court— 
Whom  the  young  princes  always  carry  with  'em 
To  be  the  butt  of  their  unfeeling  mirth. 

Val 

Hold !     I  hear  steps.     Great  things  may  yet  be  done, 
If  we  are  men  and  faithful  to  our  country. 

[Exeunt. — Change. 


ICollatia.  The  House  of  Collatinus. 
A  Room,  lighted.  Lugretia,  with 
Lavinia  and  other  attendant  Ladies, 
discovered.  all  are  at  work  on 
Embroidery,  etc. 

Lucretia. 

How  long  is  it,  Lavinia,  since  my  lord 

Hath  changed  his  peaceful  mansion  for  the  camp 

And  restless  scenes  of  war  ? 

Lav. 

Why,  in  my  simple  estimation,  madam, 
'T  is  some  ten  days  or  thereabout,  for  time 
Runs  as  it  should  with  me ;  in  yours,  it  may  be 
Perhaps  ten  years. 

Lucretia. 

I  do  not  understand  thee : 

Say  'st  thou  with  me  time  runs  not  as  it  should  ? 

Explain  thy  meaning :  what  should  make  thee  think  so  ? 


1 6  BRUTUS. 

Lav. 

All  that  I  mean  is,  that  if  I  were  married, 

And  that  my  husband  were  called  forth  to  the  wars, 

I  should  not  stray  through  the  grove  next  my  house, 

Invoke  the  pensive  solitude,  and  woo 

The  dull  and  silent  melancholy ;  brood 

O'er  my  own  thoughts,  alone ;  or  keep  myself 

Within  my  house  mewed  up,  a  prisoner. 

'T  is  for  philosophers  to  love  retirement. 

Women  were  not  made 

To  stand  cooped  up  like  statues  in  a  niche, 

Or  feed  on  their  own  secret  contemplations. 

Lucretia. 

Go  to  —  thou  know'st  not  what  thou  say'st,  Lavinia. 
I  thank  the  gods,  who  taught  me  that  the  mind, 
Possessed  of  conscious  virtue,  is  more  rich 
Than  all  the  sunless  hoards  which  Plutus  boasts ; 
And  that  the  chiefest  glory  of  a  woman 
Is  in  retirement ;  that  her  highest  comfort 
Results  from  home-born  and  domestic  joys ; 
The  noblest  treasure  a  deserving  husband, 
Who,  not  a  prisoner  to  the  eye  alone, 
A  fair  complexion  or  melodious  voice, 
Shall  read  her  deeper;  nor  shall  time,  which  palls 
The  rage  of  passion,  shake  his  ardent  love  — 
Increasing  by  possession.     This, —  again  I  thank 
The  gracious  gods, —  this  husband  too  is  mine  ! 
Soft  —  I  hear  footsteps.     Hour  of  rapture !  look! 
My  love,  my  life,  my  Collatinus  comes. 

\Enter  Collatinus,  Claudius,  A  runs,  and  Sextus  l.  i.  e. 

My  lord,  most  welcome ! 

Col. 

Welcome  these,  my  friends, 
Lucretia !  —  our  right  royal  master's  sons. 
Passing  this  way,  I  have  prevailed  with  them 
To  grace  our  humble  mansion. 


BRUTUS.  17 

Lucretia. 

Welcome  yourself, 

And  doubly  welcome,  that  you  bring  such  friends. 

Haste,  maidens,  haste,  make  ready  for  our  guests ! 

[Exeunt  Lavinia,  and  other  ladies  R. 
My  heart  is  full  of  joy  ! 

Aruns. 
Rather,  fair  lady, 

You  should  be  angry  that  unseasonably, 
And  with  abrupt  intrusion,  we  've  thus  broke 
Upon  your  privacy. 

Lucretia. 
No,  my  good  lord; 

Those  to  whom  love  and  my  respect  are  due 
Can  ne'er  intrude  upon  me ;  had  I  known 
This  visit,  you,  perhaps,  might  have  been  treated 
With  better  cheer,  not  a  more  kind  reception. 
This  evening  little  did  I  think  my  house 
Would  have  possessed  such  lodgers. 

Clau. 

Rather,  lady, 

Such  birds  of  passage ;  we  must  hence  to-night. 

Lucretia. 
To-night  ?  doth  not  my  lord  say  no  to  that  ? 

Col. 

I  would,  Lucretia ;  but  it  cannot  be. 
If  aught  the  house  affords,  my  dearest  love, 
To  set  before  your  guests,  I  pray  prepare  it : 
We  must  be  at  the  camp  ere  morning  dawn. 
An  hour  or  two  will  be  the  utmost  limit 
Allowed  us  here. 

Lucretia. 

With  all  the  speed  I  can, 

I  '11  play  the  caterer ;  though  I  am  tempted, 


1 8  BRUTUS. 

Would  that  delay  your  journey,  to  be  tardy, 

And  prove  a  sluggish  housewife.  [Exit  r. 

Sex. 

This  is  indeed  a  wife  !     Here  the  dispute 

Must  end; 

And,  Collatinus,  we  must  yield  to  thee  ! 

Aruns. 

I  will  not  envy  thee ;  but  't  is  a  wife 

Of  wives, —  a  precious  diamond,  picked 

From  out  the  common  pebbles.     To  have  found  her 

At  work  among  her  maids  at  this  late  hour, 

And  not  displeased  at  our  rude  interruption  ! 

Not  to  squeeze  out  a  lame  apology, 

As,  "  I  am  quite  ashamed — so  unprepared  — 

Who  could  have  thought  —  would  I  had  known  of  it!" 

And  such  like  tacit  hints,  to  tell  her  guests 

She  wishes  them  away  !     Thou  'rt  happy,  Collatine. 

Col. 
Enough,  enough ! 

The  gods  forbid  I  should  affect  indifference, 
And  say  you  flatter  me.  I  am  most  happy. 
But  Sextus  heeds  us  not;  he  seems  quite  lost. 

Sex. 
Pray,  pardon  me : 

My  mind  was  in  the  camp.     How  wine  could  heat  us 
To  such  a  mad  exploit,  at  such  a  time, 
Is  shameful  to  reflect  on :  let  us  mount 
This  instant,  and  return. 

Col 

Now  we  are  here, 

We  shall  encroach  but  little  on  our  time, 
If  we  partake  the  slender  fare  together 
Which  will,  by  this,  await  us.     Pray,  my  lords, 
This  way. 


BRUTUS.  19 

Sex. 

Along  !     I  '11  follow  straight. 

[Exeunt  Collatinus,  Aruns,  and  Claudius  R. 
Had  she  staid  here  till  now,  I  should  have  done 
Nothing  but  gaze. 
But  there  's  no  hope  !     Her  face, 
Her  look,  her  eye,  her  manners,  speak  a  heart 
Unknowing  of  deceit ;  a  soul  of  honour, 
Where  frozen  chastity  hath  fixed  her  throne, 
And  unpolluted  nuptial  sanctity. 

Peace,  undigested  thoughts!  down,  down  —  till  ripened 
By  further  time,  ye  bloom ! 

[Exit  r. — Scene  changes. 


§>cene  JFottttl). — The  Camp,  before  Ardea. 

[Enter  Claudius  and  Aruns,  laughing. 

Aruns. 

There  is  no  doctor  for  the  spleen  like  Lucius. 
What  precious  scenes  of  folly  did  he  act 
When,  lately,  through  the  glorious  land  of  Greece, 
He  went  with  us  to  Delphi !     But  behold, 
Where,  full  of  business,  his  wise  worship  comes. 

[Enter  Lucius  Junius,   surnamcd  Brutus. — This 
name  is  bestowed  upon  him    by   Tullia,  in  the 
first  scene  of  the  Second  Act. 

Clan. 
Whither  so  fast,  good  Junius,  tell  us  whither  ? 

Luc.  Jun. 

To  Rome,  to  Rome  —  the  queen  demands  my  presence. 
The  state  needs  aid,  and  I  am  called  to  court. 

[Claudius  and  Aruns  laugh. 


20  BRUTUS. 

Am  I  a  fool  ?     If  so,  you  cannot  say 

I  'm  the  first  fool  graced  by  a  monarch's  favour. 

Aruns. 

Why,  Junius,  travel  has  improved  thy  wit. 
Thou  speakest  shrewdly. 

Luc.  Jun. 
Do  I  so,  my  lord  ? 

1  'm  always  glad  when  you  and  I  agree ; 
You  have  just  such  a  wit  as  I  should  choose. 
Would  I  could  purchase  such !  though  it  might  split 
My  head,  as  confined  air  does — water  bubbles! 

Clan. 
How  say  you  ?     Purchase  ?     Prithee,  what  wouldst  give  ? 

Luc.  Jun. 
What  would  I  give  ?  —  ten  acres  of  my  land. 

Aruns. 
Thy  land !     Where  lies  it  ? 

Luc.  Jun. 

Ask  the  king,  my  cousin : 

He  knows  full  well.     I  thank  him,  he 's  my  steward, 

And  takes  the  trouble  off  my  hands. 

Clan. 
Who  told  thee  so  ? 

Luc.  Jun. 

The  king  himself.     Now  twenty  years  are  past, 

Or  more,  since  he  sent  for  me  from  my  farm. 

"  Kinsman,"  said  he,  with  a  kind,  gracious  smile, 

"  For  the  black  crime  of  treason  which  was  charged 

Against  thy  father  and  thy  elder  brother, 

Their  lives  have  paid :  for  thee,  as  I  love  mercy, 

Live  and  be  happy;  simple  is  thy  mind " 


BRUTUS.  21 

Aru  ns. 
True,  kinsman,  true — i'  faith,  't  is  wondrous  simple. 

Luc.  Jim. 

"  And  that  simplicity  will  be  a  pledge 

That  thou  wilt  never  plot  against  thy  sovereign." 

Chiu. 
Indeed,  for  that  I  '11  be  thy  bondsman,  Junius. 

Luc.  Jim. 

"  Live  in  my  house,  companion  of  my  children. 
As  for  thy  land,  to  ease  thee  of  all  care, 
I  '11  take  it  for  thy  use ;  all  that  I  ask 
Of  thee  is  gratitude." 

Arum. 
And  art  thou  not 
Grateful  for  goodness  so  unmerited  ? 

Luc.  Jim. 

Am  I  not  ?     Never,  by  the  holy  gods, 
Will  I  forget  it !     T  is  my  constant  prayer 
To  heaven,  that  I  may  one  day  have  the  power 
To  pay  the  debt  I  owe  him.     But  stay,  stay  — 
I  brought  a  message  to  you  from  the  king. 

Aruns. 
Thank  the  gods,  then,  for  thy  good  memory,  fool ! 

Luc.  Jim. 
The  king,  your  father,  sends  for  you  to  council, 
Where  he  debates  how  best  to  conquer  Ardea. 
Shall  I  before,  and  tell  him  ye  are  coming  ? 

Clau. 

Ay,  or  behind,  or  with  us,  or  stay  here, 

As  thy  wits  prompt,  as  suits  thy  lofty  pleasure. 

[Exeunt  Aruns  and  Claudius,  laughing. 
3 


2  2  BRUTUS. 

Luc.  Jun. 

Yet,  't  is  not  that  which  ruffles  me :  the  gibes 

And  scornful  mockeries  of  ill-governed  youth, 

Or  flouts  of  dastard  sycophants  and  jesters  — 

Reptiles,  who  lay  their  bellies  in  the  dust 

Before  the  frown  of  majesty  : — all  this 

I  but  expect,  nor  grudge  to  bear ;  the  face 

I  carry  courts  it !     Son  of  Marcus  Junius, 

When  will  the  tedious  gods  permit  thy  soul 

To  walk  abroad  in  her  own  majesty, 

And  throw  this  vizor  of  thy  madness  from  thee, 

To  avenge  my  father's  and  my  brother's  murder  ?  - 

And  sweet,  I  must  confess,  would  be  the  draught !  - 

Had  this  been  all,  a  thousand  opportunities 

I  've  had  to  strike  the  blow,  and  my  own  life 

I  had  not  valued  as  a  rush ;  but  still 

There 's  something  nobler  to  be  done !  —  My  soul, 

Enjoy  the  strong  conception !  —  O,  't  is  glorious 

To  free  a  groaning  country  — 

To  see  Revenge 

Spring  like  a  lion  from  the  den,  and  tear 

These  hunters  of  mankind.     Grant  but  the  time, 

Grant  but  the  moment,  gods  !     If  I  am  wanting, 

May  I  drag  out  this  idiot-feigned  life 

To  late  old  age,  and  may  posterity 

Ne'er  hear  of  Junius  but  as  Tarquin's  fool ! 


CURTAIN. 


%tt  &ctm\b. 

a.  jp.        i  Rome.     An  .Apartment  of  State  in  the 

»;eae  Stttt  |      Palace  of  Tullia. 

[Enter    Tullia,  preceded  by  Guards,  Ladies,  and 
other  Attendants,  and  followed  by  Valerius. 

Tul.  [Aside. 

Why  should  the  steady  mind  to  shadows  yield  ? 
And  yet  this  vision  shakes  my  frame  with  horror ! 
I  thought  his  spirit  thundered  in  my  ear, 
"  Remember  when,  with  wild  ambition's  frenzy 
And  all  Rome's  empire  in  your  view,  you  drove 
Your  chariot-wheels  o'er  your  dead  father's  body, 
Up  to  the  shouting  Forum  ! "     Why,  my  soul, 
Dost  thou  not  shun  remembrance  of  that  hour  ? 
'T  was  but  the  cause,  the  cause ;  for  this  base  clay, — 
How  differs  it  from  the  dull  earth  we  tread  on, 
When  the  life  's  gone  ?     But  next,  the  Sibyl  came, 
Whose  mystic  book  at  such  a  price  we  bought, 
And  cried,  "  The  race  of  Tarquin  shall  be  kings 
Till  a  fool  drive  them  hence,  and  set  Rome  free ! " 
Strange  prophecy  !     What  fool  ?     It  cannot  be 
That  poor  dolt,  the  companion  of  my  sons ! 
Hark  thee,  Valerius;  know'st  thou  that  same  fool 

[To  Valerius, 
Now  in  the  camp  ? 

Val. 

I  know  him  well, —  a  man 

Who,  when  he  had  a  name,  was  Lucius  Junius : 

A  braver  citizen  Rome  never  boasted, 

And  wise  and  learned  withal ;  now  changed,  alas  !  — 

A  spectacle  which  humbles  me  to  look  on  ! 


24  BRUTUS. 

Tul. 
But  is  he  harmless  in  his  moody  humours  ? 

Val. 

Tame  as  my  horse,  which,  though  devoid  of  reason, 
Shall  turn,  shall  stop,  and  at  my  angry  bidding 
Shall  kneel  till  I  am  throned  on  his  back ! 
And  this  shall  Junius  :  the  like  instinct  stirs 
Junius  and  him;  no  more. 

Tul.  [Aside. 

Hence,  idle  fears ! 

Yet,  when  he  went  to  Delphi,  't  is  given  out 
The  oracle  addressed  him  with  strange  portents ; 
And  each  night  since  my  dreams  have  been  disturbed 
By  a  wild  form,  too  much  resembling  his, 
Leading  our  soldiers  forth  with  sword  and  flame, 
Revolters  from  the  camp,  to  storm  the  palace. 
But  he  is  sent  from  thence,  and  shall  be  watched. 

[Enter  Horatius  L. 

Horatius. 

Your  orders  are  obeyed  :  Lucius  awaits. 

Tul. 
Set  him  before  us.  [Exit  Horatius  l. 

Tell  me,  will  he  answer  [  To  Valerius. 

If  we  do  question  him  ? 

Val. 
I  think  he  will : 

Yet  sometimes,  when  the  moody  fit  doth  take  him, 
He  will  not  speak  for  days ;  yea,  rather  starve 
Than  utter  nature's  cravings  ;  then,  anon 
He  '11  prattle  shrewdly,  with  such  witty  folly 
As  almost  betters  reason. 

[Horatius  returns  with  Lucius  Junius  L. 

Tul. 
Hark  thee,  fellow, 
How  art  thou  called  ? 


BRUTUS.  25 

Luc.  Jun. 
A  fool. 

Tul. 
Fool,  for  thy  nature 
Thou  answerest  well ;  but  I  demand  thy  name. 

Luc.  Jun. 
Nothing  but  fool. 

Tul. 
His  faculties  are  brutish.  [Aside. 

Brutus  shall  be  thy  name.  [  To  Lucius  Junius. 

Bru. 
Thanks  to  your  grace. 

Horatius. 
Dost  like  thy  new  name,  gentle  brute  ? 

Bru. 
So  well, 

Who  will  may  take  the  fool,  I  care  not  who — 
Your  highness,  an'  it  like  you. 

Horatius. 
I  the  fool ! 
Sirrah,  good  words,  or  I  will  have  thee  beaten. 

Bru. 

A  fool  thou  wilt  not  beat,  a  brute  thou  dar'st  not, 
For  the  dull  ass  will  kick  against  his  striker, 
If  struck  too  harshly. 

Tul. 
Let  me  hear  no  more-, 

There  's  mischief  in  his  folly.     Send  him  hence. 
But  stay,  I  '11  search  him  further.     Hark  thee,  Brutus : 
Thou  wast  at  Delphi,  with  our  sons  the  princes ; 
Tell  me  what  questions  put  they  to  Apollo  ? 

[All  give  eager  attention  to  this. 


26  BRUTUS. 

Bru. 
Your  sons  did  ask  who  should  be  chief  in  Rome. 

Tul. 
Ha !     What  replied  the  oracle  to  that  ? 

Bru. 

With  pains  and  strugglings  the  prophetic  dame 
This  destiny  reported  from  her  god : 
"  Great  and  most  glorious  shall  that  Roman  be, 
Who  first  shall  greet  his  mother  with  a  kiss." 

Tul. 
That  is  fulfilled  by  Sextus. 

Horatius. 

Ay,  he  straight 

Hastened  from  thence  and  kissed  the  queen  his  mother. 

Bni. 

Woe  for  me,  I  have  no  mother ! 
And  yet  I  kissed  her  first. 

Tul. 
Thou  kissed  her  ?     Thou  ? 

Bru. 

Yea,  madam;  for  just  then  my  foot  did  slip 

In  the  fresh  blood  of  a  new-slaughtered  victim, 

And,  falling,  I  did  kiss  my  mother — earth.  [All  start. 

Tul. 

O,  that  the  earth  had  swallowed  thee  outright 
Till  thou  hadst  kissed  the  centre !  I  perceive, 
The  gods  are  leagued  with  folly  to  destroy  us. 
My  very  blood  chills  at  my  heart.     Away ! 

[Flourish.     Exeunt  Tullia  and  Attendants  C. 


BRUTUS.  27 

Horatius. 

Hark  thee,  thou  Brutus.     I  in  part  suspect 
Thou  ap'st  this  folly ;  if  I  find  thee  trifling 
Or  juggling  with  the  Pythia  for  predictions, 
By  all  the  gods,  I  '11  have  thee  flayed,  thy  skin 
Stripped  into  thongs,  to  strangle  thee  withal. 
Dissembling  varlet!  [Strikes  Brutus,  who  seizes  him. 

[Horatius  draws  dagger. 
Val. 
Shame,  my  lord !  forbear ! 
Threat'ning  a  fool,  you  do  but  wrong  yourself. 

Horatius. 

But  that  the  princes  love  his  son,  brave  Titus, 

My  dagger  should  have  pierced  his  throat  ere  now 

And  sent  him  to  his  mother  earth  forever ! 

He  shall  be  watched.     Come,  come  with  me,  Valerius. 

[Exit  c. 
Val. 

The  gods  restore  thee,  Brutus,  to  thyself, 

And  us  to  thee  !  [Exit  c. 

Brit. 

A  little  longer, 

A  little  longer  yet  support  me,  patience ! 
The  day  draws  on :  it  presses  to  the  birth, 
I  see  it  in  the  forming  womb  of  time, — 
The  embryo  liberty.     Ha,  't  is  my  son ! 
Down,  rebel  nature,  down ! 

[Enter  Titus  R.  1.  e. 
Tit. 
Welcome  to  Rome  ! 
Would  I  might  welcome  thee  to  reason,  too ! 

Bru. 
Give  me  thy  hand  —  nay,  give  it  me. 

Tit. 
What  wouldst  thou  ? 
Speak  to  thy  son. 


28  BRUTUS. 

Bru. 
I  had  a  thing  to  say, 
But  I  have  lost  it.     Let  it  pass ;  no  matter. 

Tit. 

Look  not  upon  me  with  those  eyes,  but  speak; 
What  is  it  that  annoys  thee  ?  tell  thy  friend : 
How  can  I  serve  thee  ?     What  dost  lack  ? 

Bru. 
Preferment. 
Thou  canst  do  much  at  court. 

Tit. 

Ah,  this  is  nothing ! 

Bru. 

So  much  the  fitter  for  a  fool's  petition, 
And  a  court  promise. 

Tit. 

O,  this  trifling  racks  me. 

Bru. 

Lend  me  thine  ear :  I  '11  tell  a  secret  to  thee 
Worth  a  whole  city's  ransom.     This  it  is  — 
Nay,  ponder  it,  and  lock  it  in  thy  heart  — 
There  are  more  fools,  my  son,  in  this  wise  world, 
Than  the  gods  ever  made. 

Tit. 

Say'st  thou,  my  father? 

Expound  this  riddle.     If  thy  mind  doth  harbour 
Aught  that  imports  a  son  like  me  to  know, 
Or,  knowing,  to  achieve,  declare  it. 

Bru. 

Now,  my  son, 

Should  the  great  gods,  who  made  me  what  thou  see'st, 

Repent,  and  in  their  vengeance  cast  upon  me 

The  burden  of  my  senses  back  again, 

What  wouldst  thou  say  ? 


BRUTUS.  29 

Tit. 

O,  my  lamented  father, 

Would  the  kind  gods  restore  thee  to  thy  reason 

Bru. 
Then,  Titus,  then  I  should  be  mad  with  reason. 
Had  I  the  sense  to  know  myself  a  Roman, 
This  hand  should  tear  this  heart  from  out  my  ribs, 
Ere  it  should  own  allegiance  to  a  tyrant. 
If,  therefore,  thou  dost  love  me,  pray  the  gods 
To  keep  me  what  1  am.     Where  all  are  slaves, 
None  but  the  fool  is  happy. 

Tit. 
We  are  Romans, 

Not  slaves 

Bru. 
Not  slaves  ?     Why,  what  art  thou  ? 

Tit. 
Thy  son. 
Dost  thou  not  know  me  ? 

Bru. 

You  abuse  my  folly. 

I  know  thee  not.     Wert  thou  my  son,  ye  gods, 
Thou  wouldst  tear  off  this  sycophantic  robe, 
Tuck  up  thy  tunic,  trim  these  curled  locks 
To  the  short  warrior-cut,  vault  on  thy  steed ; 
Then,  scouring  through  the  city,  call  to  arms, 
And  shout  for  liberty ! 

Tit.  [Starts. 

Bru. 


Defend  me,  gods ! 

Ha !  does  it  stagger  thee  ? 


Tit. 
For  liberty  ? 

Said'st  thou  for  liberty  ?     It  cannot  be. 
4 


3°  BRUTUS. 

Bru. 
Indeed !     'T  is  well  —  no  more. 

Tit. 

What  would  my  father  ? 

Bru. 
Begone !  you  trouble  me. 

Tit. 
Nay,  do  not  scorn  me. 

Bru. 

Said  I,  for  liberty  ?     I  said  it  not : 

The  awful  word,  breathed  in  a  coward's  ear, 

Were  sacrilege  to  utter.     Hence,  begone ! 

Said  I  you  were  my  son  ?     'T  is  false;  I  'm  foolish; 

My  brain  is  weak,  and  wanders ;  you  abuse  it. 

Tit. 

Ah,  do  not  leave  me;  not  in  anger  leave  me. 

Bru. 

Anger  ?     What 's  that  ?     I  am  content  with  folly  : 

Anger  is  madness,  and  above  my  aim !  f Music  heard. 

Hark  !  here  is  music  for  thee, —  food  for  love, — 

And  beauty  to  serve  in  the  rich  repast. 

Tarquinia  comes.     Go,  worship  the  bright  sun, 

And  let  poor  Brutus  wither  in  the  shade.        [Exit  l.  i.e. 

Tit. 

O,  truly  said !  bright  as  the  golden  sun 
Tarquinia's  beauty  beams,  and  I  adore ! 

[  Tarquinia  enters,  preceded  by  Women  bearing  a 
crown  of  gold,  together  with  palms  for  the  cere- 
monial of  a  dedication  to  Fortune. 

What  dedication,  or  what  holy  service, 
Doth  the  fair  client  of  the  gods  provide  ? 
In  the  celestial  synod  is  there  one 
Who  will  not  listen  to  Tarquinia's  prayer  ? 


BRUTUS. 

Tar. 

I  go  to  Fortune's  temple,  to  suspend 
Upon  the  votive  shrine  this  golden  crown. 
While  incense  fills  the  fane,  and  holy  hymns 
Are  chaunted  for  my  brother's  safe  return, 
What  shall  I  ask  for  Titus  ? 

lit. 
Though  the  goddess 

In  her  blind  bounty  should  unthrone  the  world 
To  build  me  one  vast  empire,  my  ambition, 
If  by  thy  love  unblest,  would  slight  the  gift  : 
Therefore  of  Fortune  I  have  nought  to  ask ; 
She  hath  no  interest  in  Tarquinia's  heart; 
Nature,  not  Fortune,  must  befriend  me  there. 

Tar. 
Thy  gentle  manners,  Titus,  have  endeared  thee; 
Although  a  subject  Roman,  to  Tarquinia. 
My  brother  Sextus  wears  thee  next  his  heart ; 
The  queen  herself,  of  all  our  courtly  youth, 
First  in  her  favour  holds  the  noble  Titus ; 
And,  though  my  noble  father  well  may  keep 
A  jealous  eye  upon  thy  Junian  race, — 
A  race  unfriendly  to  the  name  of  king, — 
Yet  thee  he  cherishes :  with  generous  joy 
The  monarch  sees  thy  early  virtue  shoot, 
And,  with  a  parent's  fondness,  rears  its  growth, 

Tit. 
O,  neither  name,  nor  nature,  nor  the  voice 
Of  my  lost  father,  could  he  wake  to  reason, 
Not  all  the  wrongs  that  tyranny  could  pile 
On  my  afflicted  head,  not  all  the  praise 
That  patriot  gratitude  could  shower  upon  me, 
Can  shake  the  faithful  purpose  of  my  soul, 
To  sever  it  from  love  and  my  Tarquinia. 

Tar. 

Approve  that  firmness  in  the  shock  of  trial, 
And,  if  my  love  can  recompense  thy  virtue, 


32  BRUTUS. 

Nor  tortures,  nor  temptations,  nor  the  wreck 
Of  Rome  and  empire  shall  divide  me  from  thee. 
To  this  I  pledge  my  hand.     Now  to  the  temple. 

[Music. — Exeunt  c. — Scene  changes. 


(  Rome.      The    Capitol.      Equestrian 
Recite  §>ccon&.  <      Statue  of  Tarquin  the  Proud,  c. 
(      Night.    Thunder  and  Lightning. 

[Enter  Brutus. 
Bru. 

Slumber  forsakes  me,  and  I  court  the  horrors 
Which  night  and  tempest  swell  on  every  side. 
Launch  forth  thy  thunders,  Capitolian  Jove  ! 
Put  fire  into  the  languid  souls  of  men ; 
Let  loose  thy  ministers  of  wrath  amongst  them, 
And  crush  the  vile  oppressor !     Strike  him  down, 
Ye  lightnings!     Lay  his  trophies  in  the  dust ! 

[Storm  increases. 
Ha!  this  is  well !     Flash,  ye  blue-forked  fires ! 
Loud-bursting  thunders,  roar  !  and  tremble,  earth ! 

[Loud peal  of  thunder.  The  statue  of  Tarquin  is 
struck  by  a  fash  of  lightning,  is  shattered  to 
pieces,  and  falls  in  fragments. 

What !  fallen  at  last,  proud  idol,  struck  to  earth! 
I  thank  you,  gods !  I  thank  you !     When  you  point 
Your  shafts  at  human  pride,  it  is  not  chance, 
'T  is  wisdom  levels  the  commissioned  blow. 
But  I  —  a  thing  of  no  account — a  slave  — 
I  to  your  forked  lightnings  bare  my  bosom 
In  vain,  for  what  's  a  slave  —  a  dastard  slave  — 
A  fool,  a  Brutus  ? 

[Sounds  of  tempest  very  loud. 
Hark  !  the  storm  rides  on, 
The  scolding  winds  drive  through  the  clattering  rain, 


BRUTUS. 


33 


And  loudly  screams  the  haggard  witch  of  night. 

Strange  hopes  possess  my  soul :  my  thoughts  grow  wild, 

Engender  with  the  scene,  and  pant  for  action. 

With  your  leave,  majesty,  I  '11  sit  beside  you, 

And  ruminate  awhile.         [Sits  on  a  fragment  of  the  statue. 

O,  for  a  cause  !     A  cause,  ye  mighty  gods ! 

Soft,  what  stir  is  this  ? 

[Enter  Valerius,  followed  by  a  Messenger  l.  u.  e. 

Val. 
What !  Collatinus  sent  for,  didst  thou  say  ? 

Mess. 

Ay,  Collatinus,  thou,  and  all  her  kinsmen, 
To  come  upon  the  instant  to  Collatia ; 
She  will  take  no  denial.     Time  is  precious, 
And  I  must  hasten  forth  to  bring  her  husband. 


Bru. 

Ha!  Collatinus  and  Lucretia's  kinsmen! 
There  's  something  sure  in  this.     Valerius,  too ! 
Well  met.     Now  will  I  put  him  to  the  test. 
Valerius,  ho ! 


[Exit  r. 
[Aside. 


Who  calls  me  ? 
Brutus. 

Go, 

Get  thee  to  bed ! 

Valerius ! 


Val. 

Bru. 

Val. 

Bru. 
Val. 


[  Turning  back. 


[  Valerius  is  departing  r. 


Peace, 

Thou  foolish  thing !     Why  dost  thou  call  so  loud  ? 

Bru. 

Because  I  will  be  heard  !     The  time  may  come 
When  thou  may'st  want  a  fool. 


34  BRUTUS. 

Val. 
Prithee,  begone ! 
I  have  no  time  to  hear  thy  prattle  now. 

Bru. 
By  Hercules,  but  you  must  hear.  [Seizing  his  arm. 

Val. 
You  '11  anger  me. 

Bru. 

Waste  not  your  noble  anger  on  a  fool ! 
'T  were  a  brave  passion  in  a  better  cause. 

Val. 
Thy  folly  's  cause  enough. 

Bru. 
Rail  not  at  folly, 
There  's  but  one  wise,  and  him  the  gods  have  killed. 

Val. 
Killed?     Whom?  [Thunder. 

Bru. 

[Pointing  to  the  shattered  statue. 
Behold ! 

O,  sight  of  pity  !     Majesty  in  ruins  ! 
Down  on  your  knees,  down  to  your  kingly  idol ! 

Val. 
Let  slaves  and  sycophants  do  that.     Not  I ! 

Bru. 
Wilt  thou  not  kneel  ? 

Val. 
Begone ; 
Valerius  kneels  not  to  the  living  Tarquin. 

Bru. 

Indeed  !     Belike  you  wish  him  laid  as  low? 


BRUTUS.  35 

Val. 
What  if  I  do?  {Thunder. 

Bru. 

Jove  tells  thee  what  to  do!     Strike  ! 

0,  the  difference  'tvvixt  Jove's  wrath  and  thine  ! 

He,  at  the  crowned  tyrant  aims  his  shaft ; 

Thou,  mighty  man,  wouldst  frown  a  fool  to  silence, 

And  spurn  poor  Brutus  from  thee. 

Val. 
What  is  this  ? 

Let  me  look  nearer  at  thee.     Is  thy  mind, 
That  long-lost  jewel,  found  ?  and  Lucius  Junius, 
Dear  to  my  heart,  restored  ?     Or  art  thou  Brutus, 
The  scoff  and  jest  of  Rome,  and  this  a  fit 
Of  intermittent  reason  ? 

Bru. 
I  am  Brutus ! 

Folly,  be  thou  my  goddess  !     I  am  Brutus, 
If  thou  wilt  use  me  so  ;  if  not,  farewell  ! 
Why  dost  thou  pause  ?     Look  on  me  !     I  have  limbs, 
Parts  and  proportions,  shoulders  strong  to  bear, 
And  hands  not  slow  to  strike !     What  more  than  Brutus 
Could  Lucius  Junius  do  ? 

Val. 
A  cause  like  ours 

Asks  both  the  strength  of  Brutus,  and  the  wisdom 
Of  Lucius  Junius.  [Noise  outside. 

Bru. 
No  more — we  're  interrupted. 

Val. 

Farewell.     Hereafter,  we  '11  discourse. 

And  may  the  gods  confirm  the  hope  you  've  raised ! 

[Exit. 
Bru. 

My  soul  expands !     My  spirit  swells  within  me, 
As  if  the  glorious  moment  were  at  hand  ! 


36  BRUTUS. 

Sure  this  is  Sextus.     Why  has  he  left  the  camp  — 
Alone  —  and  muffled  ? 

[Enter  Sextus  r.  u.  e.,  wrapped  in  a  mantle. 
Welcome,  gentle  prince ! 

Sex. 

Ha  !  Brutus  here !  —  unhoused  amid  the  storm  ? 

Bru. 
Whence  com'st  thou,  prince  ?  from  battle  ?  from  the  camp  ? 

Sex. 

Not  from  the  camp,  good  Brutus — from  Collatia — 
The  camp  of  Venus,  not  of  Mars,  good  Brutus. 

Bru. 
Ha! 

Sex. 

Why  dost  thou  start  ?     Thy  kinswoman,  Lucretia 

Bru. 
Well,  what  of  her  ?  speak  ! 

Sex. 
Ay,  I  will  speak, 

And  I  '11  speak  that  shall  fill  thee  with  more  wonder 
Than  all  the  lying  oracle  declared. 

Bru. 

Nay,  prince,  not  so ;  you  cannot  do  a  deed 
To  make  me  wonder. 

Sex. 
Indeed  !     Dost  think  it  ? 

Then  let  me  tell  thee,  Brutus :  wild  with  passion 
For  this  famed  matron, —  though  we  met  but  once, — 
Last  night  I  stole  in  secret  from  the  camp, 
Where,  in  security,  I  left  her  husband. 
She  was  alone.     I  said  affairs  of  consequence 
Had  brought  me  to  Collatia.     She  received  me 
As  the  king's  son,  and  as  her  husband's  friend  — 


BRUTUS.  37 

jBru.  [Aside. 

Patience.  O  heart !  —  a  moment  longer,  patience ! 

Sex. 
When  midnight  came,  I  crept  into  her  chamber 


Bru.  [Aside. 

Inhuman  monster ! 

Sex. 

Alarmed  and  frantic, 

She  shrieked  out,  "  Collatinus  !     Husband  !     Help !  " 

A  slave  rushed  in — I  sprung  upon  the  caitiff, 

And  drove  my  dagger  through  his  clamorous  throat; 

Then,  turning  to  Lucretia,  now  half  dead 

With  terror,  swore,  by  all  the  gods,  at  once, 

If  she  resisted,  to  the  heart  I  'd  stab  her ; 

Yoke  her  fair  body  to  the  dying  slave, 

And  fix  pollution  to  her  name  forever ! 

Bru. 
And — and — the  matron  ?  — 

Sex. 
Was  mine !  was  mine ! 

Bru. 

The  furies  curse  you,  then !  lash  you  with  snakes ! 

When  forth  you  walk,  may  the  red  flaming  sun 

Strike  you  with  livid  plagues ! 

Vipers  that  die  not  slowly  gnaw  your  heart ! 

May  earth  be  to  you  but  one  wilderness  ! 

May  you  hate  yourself, 

For  death  pray  hourly,  yet  be  in  tortures 

Millions  of  years  expiring  ! 

Sex. 
Amazement !     What  can  mean  this  sudden  frenzy  ? 
5 


38  BRUTUS. 

Bru. 

What  ?     Violation !     Do  we  dwell  in  dens, 
In  caverned  rocks,  or  amongst  men,  in  Rome? 

[T/i  under  and  lightning  very  loud. 
Hear  the  loud  curse  of  heaven  !     'T  is  not  for  nothing 
The  thunderer  keeps  this  coil  above  your  head ! 
Look  on  that  ruin  !     See  your  father's  statue 
Unhorsed  and  headless  !     Tremble  at  the  omen  ! 

Sex. 

This  is  not  madness.     Ha !  my  dagger  lost ! 

Wretch !  thou  shalt  not  escape  me.     Ho  !  a  guard ! 

The  rack  shall  punish  thee.     A  guard,  I  say !         [Exit  l. 

Bru. 

The  blow  is  struck !  the  anxious  messages 

To  Collatinus  and  his  friends  explained  : 

And  now,  Rome's  liberty  or  loss  is  certain ! 

I  '11  hasten  to  Collatia,  join  my  kinsmen. 

To  the  moon,  folly  !     Vengeance,  I  embrace  thee ! 

[Exit  R.  I.  E. 

CURTAIN. 


Collatia.     Apartment  in  the  House 

Scene  Jtret  i  0F  CoLLATINUS-  Lucretia,  Colla- 
tinus,  Lucretius,  Valerius,  Ladies 
and  Attendants,  discovered. 

Lucretia. 

Bear  witness,  then,  Lucretia's  mind  is  guiltless  ; 

Yet  never  can  Lucretia  smile  again. 

Lost  to  herself,  her  husband,  and  her  child ; 

Lost  to  the  world,  her  country,  and  her  friends ; 

The  arms  of  love  can  pillow  her  no  more, 

And  the  sweet  smile  of  her  dear  innocent  babe 

Would  but  awaken  her  to  deeper  anguish. 

And  shall  she  live,  bereft  of  all  life's  treasures, 

The  spectre  of  the  past  forever  rising 

To  fright  her  into  madness  ?     Think  not,  countrymen, 

Indignant  virtue  can  survive  pollution. 

By  her  own  hand  a  Roman  wife  can  fall.       [Stabs  herself. 

T  is  to  the  heart !     Tarquin,  the  blow  was  thine  !     [Falls. 

Col. 
Beloved,  unhappy  wife !     What  hast  thou  done  ? 

Lucretia. 

A  deed  of  glory.     Now,  my  husband,  now 

With  transport  can  I  press  thee  to  my  bosom. 

Father  and  kinsmen,  ye  can  own  me  now ! 

My  pure  soul  springs  from  its  detested  prison ! 

Virtue  exults  !     The  gods  applaud  my  daring ! 

And  to  our  dear,  loved  babe,  I  can  bequeath 

A  mother's  noblest  gift — a  spotless  name  !  [Dies. 


40  BRUTUS. 

Lucretius. 

Staff  of  my  age —  gone,  gone,  forever  gone  ! 

A  wretched  father's  last  and  only  joy  ! 

Come,  death,  strike  here ;  your  shaft  were  welcome  now  ! 

Snatch  me  from  earth  to  my  poor,  lost,  loved  child ! 

Col. 

My  wife  !  my  wife  !     Dear,  dear,  wronged,  murdered  wife  ! 

Let  me  be  rooted  here  in  endless  sorrow. 

Who,  who  shall  dare  to  mourn  her  loss  like  me  ? 

[Enter  Brutus  l.  i.  e. 
Bru. 
I  dare!  [All start. 

And  so  dare  every  honest  Roman. 

Lucretius. 
Whence  comes  this  mad  intrusion  ?     Hence,  begone ! 

Bru. 
The  noble  spirit  fled  !     How  died  Lucretia  ? 

Val. 
By  her  own  hand  she  died  ! 

Bru. 
Heroic  matron  ! 

Now,  now  the  hour  is  come  !     By  this  one  blow 
Her  name  's  immortal,  and  her  country  saved. 
Hail !  dawn  of  glory !  [Snatching  the  dagger. 

Hail,  thou  sacred  weapon ! 
Virtue's  deliverer,  hail ! 

Hear,  Romans,  hear!  did  not  the  Sibyl  tell  you, 
A  fool  should  set  Rome  free  ?     I  am  that  fool. 
Brutus  bids  Rome  be  free ! 

AIL 
What  can  this  mean  ? 

Bru. 

It  means  that  Lucius  Junius  has  thrown  off 
The  mask  of  madness,  and  his  soul  rides  forth 


BRUTUS.  41 

On  the  destroying  whirlwind,  to  avenge 

The  wrongs  of  that  bright  excellence,  and  Rome. 

Lucretius. 
Can  this  be  Lucius  Junius  ? 

Val. 

Ha !  the  voice 

Of  inspiration  speaks. 

Col. 
O  glorious  Brutus, 

Let  me  in  tears  adore  the  bounteous  gods 
Who  have  restored  thee  to  redress  my  woes ; 
And,  in  my  woes,  my  country. 

Bru. 
No  more  of  this. 

Stand  not  in  wonder.     Every  instant  now 
Is  precious  to  your  cause.     Rise !     Snatch  your  arms ! 

[Kneels. 
Hear  me,  great  Jove !  and  thou,  paternal  Mars, 
And  spotless  Vesta !     To  the  death,  I  swear 
My  burning  vengeance  shall  pursue  these  Tarquins. 
Ne'er  shall  my  limbs  know  rest  till  they  are  swept 
From  off  the  earth,  which  groans  beneath  their  infamy. 
This,  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul,  I  swear !  [Rises. 

Valerius,  Collatine,  Lucretius,  all, 
Here  I  adjure  ye  by  this  fatal  dagger, 
All  stained  and  reeking  with  her  sacred  blood, 
Be  partners  in  my  oath,  revenge  her  fall ! 

All. 
We  swear !  [Placing  their  hands  on  dagger. 

Bru. 

Well  have  ye  said :  and,  O,  methinks  I  see 
The  hovering  spirit  of  the  murdered  matron 
Look  down  and  bow  her  airy  head  to  bless  you. 
Summon  your  slaves,  and  bear  the  body  hence, 


4  2  BRUTUS. 

High  in  the  view,  through  all  the  streets  of  Rome, 
Up  to  the  Forum.     On !     The  least  delay 
May  draw  down  ruin,  and  defeat  our  glory. 
On,  Romans,  on !     The  fool  shall  set  you  free ! 

[Exeunt,   severally,    all    but    Collatinus. — Scene 
chatiges. 


~  ^     i  Rome.    Apartment  in  the  Palace  of 

fttene  fteconh.   {     TuLLIA. 

[Enter  Corunna,  meeting  Horatius. 

Cor. 
My  lord,  my  lord !     Quick,  tell  me  where  is  Tullia  ? 

Horatius. 
Whence  this  alarm  ?  what  wouldst  thou  ? 

Cor. 


Rebellion  rages 
Rebellion  ? 


Horatius. 
Cor. 


Lucretia, 

The  wife  of  Collatinus,  is  no  more. 

The  furious  multitude  have  borne  her  body 

With  shouts  of  vengeance  through  the  streets  of  Rome, 

And  "  Sextus  Tarquin,"  is  the  general  cry. 

Horatius. 

Where  are  thy  troops  ?  why  dost  thou  dally  here, 
When  thou  shouldst  pay  their  insolence  with  death  ? 

Cor. 

The  soldiers  join  the  throng,  the  gates  are  closed, 
And  the  mad  crowd  exclaim,  "  We  banish  Tarquin." 
Brutus  is  at  their  head,  and  leads  them  on. 


BRUTUS.  43 

Horatius. 
What  miracle  is  this  ?     How  say'st  thou,  Brutus  ? 

Cor. 

Ay,  the  fool  Brutus.     Now  before  the  rostrum 

The  body  of  Lucretia  is  exposed, 

And  Brutus  there  harangues  assembled  Rome. 

He  waves  aloft 

The  bloody  dagger;  all  the  people  hear  him 

With  wildest  admiration  and  applause : 

He  speaks  as  if  he  held  the  souls  of  men 

In  his  own  hand,  and  moulded  them  at  pleasure. 

They  look  on  him  as  they  would  view  a  god, 

Who,  from  a  darkness  which  invested  him, 

Springs  forth,  and,  knitting  his  stern  brow  in  frowns, 

Proclaims  the  vengeful  will  of  angry  Jove. 

Horatius. 

Fly  through  the  city ;  gather  all  the  force 
You  can  assemble,  and  straight  hasten  hither : 
I  '11  to  the  queen.     Lose  not  a  moment !     Hence ! 
I  tremble  for  Rome's  safety!     Haste! — begone! 

[Exeunt. —  Scene  changes. 


Recite  ©IjtrtJ. 


The  Forum.  —  Brutus  upon  the 
Forum. — The  Dead  Body  of  Lu- 
cretia   BEFORE    HIM.       COLLATINUS, 

Lucretius,  Valerius  and  others 
discovered.  the  populace  fill 
the  Stage. 


Brn. 

Thus,  thus,  my  friends,  fast  as  our  breaking  hearts 
Permitted  utterance,  we  have  told  our  story; 
And  now,  to  say  one  word  of  the  imposture, 
The  mask  necessity  has  made  me  wear, 


44  BRUTUS. 

When  the  ferocious  malice  of  your  king, — 

King,  do  I  call  him? — when  the  monster,  Tarquin, 

Slew,  as  the  most  of  you  may  well  remember, 

My  father,  Marcus,  and  my  elder  brother, — 

Envying  at  once  their  virtues  and  their  wealth, — 

How  could  I  hope  a  shelter  from  his  power, 

But  in  the  false  face  I  have  worn  so  long  ?         \All  shout. 

First  Rom. 
Most  wonderful ! 

Second  Rom. 

Silence !  he  speaks  again. 

Bru. 

Would  you  know  why  I  summoned  you  together  ? 

Ask  ye  what  brings  me  here  ?     Behold  this  dagger, 

Clotted  with  gore !     Behold  that  frozen  corse  ! 

See  where  the  lost  Lucretia  sleeps  in  death ! 

She  was  the  mark  and  model  of  the  time, 

The  mould  in  which  each  female  face  was  formed, 

The  very  shrine  and  sacristy  of  virtue ; 

Fairer  than  ever  was  a  form  created 

By  youthful  fancy  when  the  blood  strays  wild, 

And  never-resting  thought  is  all  on  fire, 

The  worthiest  of  the  worthy.     Not  the  nymph 

Who  met  old  Numa  in  his  hallowed  walks, 

And  whispered  in  his  ear  her  strains  divine, 

Can  I  conceive  beyond  her.     Such  perfections 

Might  have  called  back  the  torpid  breast  of  age 

To  long-forgotten  rapture ;  such  a  mind 

Might  have  abashed  the  boldest  libertine 

And  turned  desire  to  reverential  love 

And  holiest  affection.     O,  my  countrymen, 

You  all  can  witness  when  that  she  went  forth, — 

It  was  a  holiday  in  Rome ;  old  age 

Forgot  its  crutch,  labour  its  task;  all  ran; 

And  mothers,  turning  to  their  daughters,  cried, 

"  There,  there  's  Lucretia."     Now,  look  ye,  where  she  lies. 

That  beauteous  flower,  that  innocent  sweet  rose, 

Torn  up  by  ruthless  violence  —  gone,  gone,  gone ! 


BRUTUS.  45 

All. 


Sextus  shall  die ! 

Bra. 
But  then,  the  king,  his  father 

First  Rom. 
What  shall  be  done  with  him  ? 

Second  Rom. 


Speak,  Brutus! 
Tell  us,  tell  us ! 


All. 


Bru. 


Say,  would  you  seek  instruction  ?  would  ye  ask 
What  ye  should  do  ?     Ask  ye  yon  conscious  walls, 
Which  saw  his  poisoned  brother,  saw  the  incest 
Committed  there,  and  they  will  cry,  Revenge ! 
Ask  yon  deserted  street,  where  Tullia  drove 
O'er  her  dead  father's  corse ;  't  will  cry,  Revenge ! 
Ask  yonder  senate-house,  whose  stones  are  purple 
With  human  blood,  and  it  will  cry,  Revenge ! 
Go  to  the  tomb  where  lies  his  murdered  wife, 
And  the  poor  queen,  who  loved  him  as  her  son ; 
Their  unappeased  ghosts  will  shriek,  Revenge ! 
The  temples  of  the  gods,  the  all-viewing  heavens, 
The  gods  themselves,  shall  justify  the  cry, 
And  swell  the  general  sound, —  Revenge,  Revenge ! 

All. 
Revenge !     Revenge ! 

Bru. 

And  we  will  be  revenged,  my  countrymen ! 
Brutus  shall  lead  you  on ;  Brutus,  a  name 
Which  will,  when  you  're  revenged,  be  dearer  to  him 
Than  all  the  noblest  titles  earth  can  boast. 
6 


BRUTUS. 

First  Rom. 
Second  Rom. 
Third  Rom. 


All  speak 
together. 


46 

Live,  Brutus! 
Valiant  Brutus ! 

Down  with  Tarquin ! 

Second  Rom. 
We  '11  have  no  Tarquins ! 

First  Rom. 
We  will  have  a  Brutus ! 

Third  Rom. 
Let 's  to  the  Capitol,  and  shout  for  Brutus ! 

All. 
Brutus  shall  be  king ! 

Bru. 
I  your  king  ? 
Brutus  your  king  ?     No,  fellow-citizens ; 
If  mad  ambition  in  this  guilty  frame 
Had  strung  one  kingly  fibre, —  yea,  but  one, — 
By  all  the  gods,  this  dagger  which  I  hold 
Should  rip  it  out,  though  it  entwined  my  heart. 

Val. 

Then  I  am  with  thee,  noble,  noble  Brutus. 
Brutus,  the  new  restored,  Brutus,  by  Sibyl, 
By  Pythian  prophetess,  foretold,  shall  lead  us ! 

Bru. 

Now  take  the  body  up;  bear  it  before  us 

To  Tarquin 's  palace ;  there  we  '11  light  our  torches, 

And  in  the  blazing  conflagration,  rear 

A  pile  for  these  chaste  relics,  that  shall  send 

Her  soul  amongst  the  stars.     On  !  Brutus  leads  you  ! 

[The people  rush  out,  shouting. 

QUICK   CURTAIN. 


[Shouting. 
[Descends. 


%tt  tfourtjj. 

C  Rome.     Tarquin's  Palace.     A  Court. 
^>cene  jFtvst.    )      At  back  a  Grand  Entrance,  with 
(      Folding  Gates. 

[Enter  Tullia. 

Tul. 

Gods !  whither  shall  a  frantic  mother  fly  ? 
Accursed  siege  of  Ardea !     Tarquin,  Tarquin, 
Where  art  thou !     Save  thy  wife,  thy  son,  thy  city ! 

[Enter  Titus  R. 
Tit. 
Where  is  the  prince, —  where  's  Sextus  ? 

Tul. 
Where  ?     O  heavens ! 

His  madness  hath  undone  us !     Where  is  Sextus  ? 
Perhaps  ev'n  now  the  barbarous  ruffians  hurl  him 
Alive  into  the  flames,  or,  piecemeal,  drag 
Along  the  rebel  streets  his  mangled  trunk 

Tit. 
No  more  !     I  '11  save  him,  or  avenge !  [Going  l. 

[Enter  Horatius  l,  who  meets  Titus,  and  stops  him. 

Horalius. 

Turn,  noble  Roman,  turn ; 

Set  not  your  life  upon  a  desperate  stake.      [Shouts  within. 

Hark  !  they  are  at  the  gates  ! 

Tul. 
Does  my  son  live  ? 


\8  BRUTUS. 

Horatius. 

Furious  he  sprang  upon  the  rebel  throng, 

And  hewed  his  desperate  passage.     But  the  time 

Admits  no  further  question. —  Save  yourself! 

Till. 

Who  leads  them  on  ? 

Horatius. 
Your  new-named  fool,  your  Brutus. 

Tit. 

Death  !  my  father  ? 

Tul. 
Brutus  in  arms ! 

O,  Sibyl!     O,  my  fate!     Farewell  to  greatness! 
I  've  heard  my  doom. 

Tit. 
Earth,  earth,  enclose  me!  [Continued  shouts  within. 

Tul. 
Hark !  it  bursts  upon  us ! 

Horatius. 

Ha !  nearer  yet.     Now  be  propitious,  Mars  ! 
Now  nerve  my  arm  with  more  than  mortal  fury, 
Till  the  dissembler  sink  beneath  its  vengeance. 

[Exit  L.  U.  E. 

Tul. 

Fly,  save  my  child!  save  my — save  your  Tarquinia! 

Tit. 
Or  die  defending.  \Exit  l.  u.  e. 

[  The  tumult  becomes  very  violent,  and  battering  at 
the  gate  and  wall  begins. 

Tul. 

Ah  !  if  amidst  my  legions  I  might  fall, 

Death  were  not  then  inglorious;  but  to  perish 


BRUTUS.  49 

By  the  vile  scum  of  Rome — hunted  by  dogs  — 
Baited  to  death  by  brawling,  base  mechanics  — 
Shame  insupportable !  [Loud  clamour. 

[  The  gate  and  wall  are  shattered,  and  they  fall, 
i?iward,  in  a  broken  mass.  The  palaces  behind 
are  seen  inflames. — Enter  Soldiers  and  Citizens, 
rushing  over  the  ruins  ;  Brutus  appears  amongst 
them,  and  advances  to  the  front. 

Bru. 
Seize  the  parricide !  [  They  surround  Tullia. 

Tul. 
Avaunt !     I  am  your  queen ! 

Bru. 
Tarquins,  we  cast  you  from  us. 

Tul. 
Give  me  a  sword,  and  let  me  fall  like  Tullia. 

Bru. 

No,  we  reserve  our  swords  for  nobler  uses 

Than  to  make  war  with  women ;  to  the  Tarquins, 

To  your  adulterous  sons,  we  leave  that  shame. 

Tul. 

If  then  't  will  better  sate  thy  cruelty, 
Precipitate  me  quick  into  those  flames, 
And  with  the  wreck  of  empire  mix  my  ashes. 

Bru. 

Take  her  to  Rhea's  temple ;  take  her  hence, 
And  Iodide  her  with  her  ancestors! 


*&■>■ 


Tul. 
Ye  gods ! 
My  father's  sepulchre !     I  '11  not  approach  it ! 


[jO  BRUTUS. 

Bru. 
'T  will  furnish  wholesome  recollection.     Hence ! 

Tul. 
Not  to  that  fatal  place !     Send  me  not  thither ! 

Bru. 
'T  is  fixed. 

Tul. 

Choose  the  most  loathsome  dungeon  —  there  confine  me, 
Or  give  me  death  instead.     My  heart  recoils 
Against  that  temple. 

Bru. 
There,  and  only  there, 
By  your  dead  father's  tomb,  you  must  abide 
The  judgment  of  the  State. 

Tul. 
Then,  by  the  gods, 
Whom,  for  the  last  time,  I  invoke, 
If  no  means  else 

Of  ready  death  present  themselves, 
No  particle  of  food  shall  pass  these  lips, 
Till,  in  the  void  of  nature,  hungry  madness, 
With  blank  oblivion  entering,  shall  confound 
And  cancel  all  perception. 

[Exit  R.    Tullia,  guarded.      Brutus  is  following 
Enter  Titus  l.  u.  e. 

Tit. 
Turn,  O  my  father, 
And  look  upon  thy  son  ! 

Bru. 

What  wouldst  thou  ?  speak. 

Tit. 

If  thou  hast  reason,  O,  have  mercy  also; 

But  if  in  madness  thou  hast  done  this  deed 


BRUTUS.  51 

Bru. 

I  am  not  mad,  but  as  the  lion  is, 

When  he  breaks  down  the  toils  that  tyrant  craft 

Hath  spread  to  catch  him.     Think  not  we  will  suffer 

These  monsters  to  profane  the  air  of  heaven. 

Shall  Titus,  then,  oppose  our  great  design  ? 

Shall  Brutus  meet  a  recreant  in  his  son  ? 

Banish  this  folly !     Have  a  care !     I  know  thee : 

There  is  a  lurking  passion  at  thy  heart, 

Which  leaves  but  half  a  soul  for  Rome  and  me. 

Tit. 

You  wrong  me.     Like  a  Roman  I  exult 
To  see  Lucretia's  murder  thus  avenged, 
Vnd  like  a  son  glory  in  such  a  father! 
Yet  hear  me  through ;  nay,  do  not  frown,  but  hear  me. 

Bru. 

Go  on ;  confess  thy  weakness,  and  dismiss  it. 

Tit. 

'T  was  in  the  sleep  of  my  dear  father's  reason, 
When  Tarquin's  freedman,  in  a  saucy  mood, 
Vented  vile  jests  at  thy  unhappy  weakness, 
Stung  to  the  quick,  I  snatched  a  weapon  up, 
And  felled  him  to  my  foot. 

Bru. 
Why,  't  was  well  done. 
The  knave  was  saucy,  and  you  slew  him.     On  ! 

Tit. 

'T  was  on  this  very  spot  Tarquinia  stood, 

And  when  the  wrathful  father  had  denounced 

Immediate  death  on  this  my  filial  act, 

She  with  the  tongue  of  interceding  pity, 

And  tears  that  streamed  in  concert  with  her  suit, 

Implored,  prevailed,  and  gave  me  life — and  love. 


52 


BRUTUS. 


Bru. 

'T  is  well.     Behold,  I  give  her  life  for  life : 
Rome  may  be  free,  although  Tarquinia  lives. 
This  I  concede  ;  but  more  if  thou  attemptest, — 
By  all  the  gods !  —  nay,  if  thou  dost  not  take 
Her  image,  though  with  smiling  Cupids  decked, 
And  pluck  it  from  thy  heart,  there  to  receive 
Rome  and  her  glories  in  without  a  rival, — 
Thou  art  no  son  of  mine !  thou  art  no  Roman ! 

[Exit  Brutus  r.,  followed  by  soldiers  and  citizens. 
Enter  Tarquinia  L.  a.  e. 

Tar. 

Save,  save  me,  Titus !     O,  amid  the  crash 

Of  falling  palaces,  preserve  Tarquinia ! 

Or,  do  I  meet  in  thee  a  double  rebel, 

Traitor  alike  to  me  and  to  thy  king  ? 

Speak,  I  conjure  thee  !     Will  the  son  of  Brutus 

Now  take  me  to  his  pity  and  protection, 

Or  stab  with  perfidy  the  heart  that  loves  him  ? 

Tit. 

Cruel  suspicion  !     O,  adored  Tarquinia, 
I  live  but  to  preserve  you  !     You  are  free  : 
I  have  my  father's  sanction  for  your  safety  ! 

Tar. 

I  scorn  a  life  that  is  preserved  by  Brutus ! 
I  scorn  to  outlive  parents,  brothers,  friends  ! 
I  "11  die  with  those 
Whom  this  dire  night  hath  murdered ! 

Tit. 
Who  are  murdered  ? 

Whom  hath  the  sword  of  Brutus  slain  ?     Not  one 
Of  all  thy  kindred 

Tar. 
Say'st  thou  ?     Lives  my  mother  ? 


BRUTUS.  53 

Tit. 

She  lives,  and  Sextus,  even  he  escapes 

The  storm  which  he  has  raised,  and  flies  to  Ardea. 

Tar. 

Speed  him,  ye  gods,  with  eagle  swiftness  thither! 

And  may  those  thunders  which  now  shake  the  walls 

Of  tottering  Ardea,  like  a  whirlwind  burst 

On  this  devoted  city,  'whelm  its  towers, 

And  crush  the  traitorous  hive  beneath  their  ruins. 

Now,  Titus,  where  is  now  thy  promised  faith  ? 

Didst  thou  not  swear  no  dangers  should  divide  us  ? 

Tit. 

I  did ;  and,  constant  to  my  oath,  behold  me 
Thy  faithful  guardian  in  this  night  of  terrors. 

Tar. 

Be  still  my  guardian ;  snatch  me  from  these  terrors, 
Bear  me  to  Ardea,  be  the  friend  of  nature, 
And  give  the  rescued  daughter  to  the  arms 
Of  her  protecting  parent ;  thus  you  gain 
The  praise  of  men,  the  blessings  of  the  gods, 
And  all  that  honour,  all  that  love  can  grant. 

Tit. 
Despair  !     Distraction  !     Whither  shall  I  turn  me  ? 

Tar. 

Why  do  you  waver  ?     Cast  away  this  weakness ; 

Be  glorious  in  your  cruelty,  and  leave  me. 

By  all  the  demons  who  prepare  the  heart 

To  rush  upon  the  self-destroying  steel, 

The  same  dire  moment  which  gives  thee  to  Brutus, 

Gives  me  to  death. 

Tit. 
Horror !     Tarquinia,  hold  ! 
7 


54  BRUTUS. 

Tar. 

Lo !  I  am  armed.     Farewell !     How  I  have  loved  you, 
My  death  shall  witness ;  how  you  have  deceived  me, 
Let  your  own  conscience  tell.     Now  to  your  father ! 
Now  go  and  mingle  with  the  murderers ; 
Go,  teach  those  fiends  what  perjury  can  do, 
And  show  your  hands  bathed  in  Tarquinia's  blood : 
The  filial  deed  shall  welcome  you  to  Brutus, 
And  fill  his  gloomy  soul  with  savage  joy. 

Tit. 

Take,  take  me  hence  forever !     Let  me  lose, 
In  these  dear  arms,  the  very  name  of  son, 
All  claims  of  nature,  every  sense  but  love ! 

Tar. 

The  gods  that  guard  the  majesty  of  Rome, 

And  that  sweet  power,  whose  influence  turns  thy  heart 

To  pity  and  compliance,  shall  reward 

And  bless  thee  for  the  deed. 

Tit. 

Can  he  be  blest 

On  whom  a  father's  direful  curse  shall  fall  ? 

Tar. 
A  madman's  imprecation  is  no  curse. 

Tit. 

O,  while  thy  love  upholds  me,  I  can  stand 
Against  the  world's  contempt ;  remember,  only, 
For  whose  dear  sake  I  am  undone ;  remember, 
My  heart  was  honour's  once  

Tar. 
And  shall  be  ever ! 

Come,  I  will  show  thee  where  bright  honour  grows, 
Where  thou  shalt  pluck  it  from  the  topmost  branch, 
And  wear  it  in  its  freshest,  fairest  bloom. 

[Exeu/it  l.  u.  E. 


BRUTUS.  55 

[Scene  Second  is  sometimes  omitted.] 

f  The  Temple  of  Rhea.    A  large  Door, 


JsH-ew  i^ecoiuJ. 


leading  to  the  Tomb  of  Servius 
tullius,  former  klng  of  rome, 
the  Father  of  Tullia, visible,  c. 


[Enter  the  Priestess  of  Rhea,  meeting  the   Vestal 
Virgins  of  the  Temple. 

Pr. 

Daughters  of  Rhea,  since  the  lords  of  Rome 
Have  to  your  holy  hands  consigned  the  charge 
Of  their  now  captive  queen,  inform  the  Priestess 
How  your  sad  prisoner  abides  her  durance. 
Is  her  proud  soul  yet  humbled,  or,  indignant, 
Doth  it  still  breathe  defiance  and  contempt  ? 

Ves.  Vir. 

Sullen  and  silent,  she  resolves  on  death  : 

She  will  not  taste  of  nourishment.     She  comes. 

[Enter  Tullia. 

Pr. 

I  pray  you,  royal  lady,  be  entreated 

Tul. 
I  tell  you,  no  ! 

Pr. 

Think  what  a  train  of  weary  hours  have  passed 
Since  you  had  taste  of  food. 

Tul. 
'T  is  well ! 
The  fewer  are  to  come. 

Pr. 

How  can  you  live  to  meet  your  royal  husband, 
To  fold  your  children  in  your  arms  again, 
If  you  resist  support  ? 


-ft  BRUTUS. 

Till. 

Ha  !  well  remembered  ! 

What  news  from  Ardea  ?     Will  he  march  for  Rome? 

Hark !     Do  you  hear  his  trumpet  ?     Is  he  coming  ? 

Ay,  this  is  hope,  and  worth  the  feeding. 

'T  is  well,  't  is  well ! 

But,  tell  me,  doth  the  king  know  of  this  kindness  ? 

Pr. 

What  king  ? 

Tul. 

What  king  ? 

Brutus,  the  king  of  Rome.     Knows  he  of  this  ? 

Pr. 

He  does. 

Tul. 

And  would  he  I  should  live  ? 

Pr. 

He  would. 

Tul. 

Merciful  villain ! 

Yes,  he  would  have  me  live  to  grace  his  triumphs. 

I  know  the  utmost  of  his  mercy. 

Subtle  traitor ! 

I  '11  not  taste  food,  though  immortality 

Were  grafted  to  each  atom.  —  Hark !     What 's  that  ? 

Heard  you  that  groan  ? 

Pr. 
It  is  your  fancy's  coinage. 

Tul. 

Again !     'T  is  deep  and  hollow  : 

It  issues  from  the  vault !     Set  the  door  open  ! 

Open,  I  say ! 

Pr. 
It  is  your  father's  sepulchre. 


BRUTUS.  57 

Tul. 

My  father !  righteous  gods !     1  killed  my  father ! 
Horrible  retribution ! 

Tr. 

Wretched  daughter, 

If  thou  hast  done  this  deed,  prepare  thy  spirit, 

By  wholesome  meditation,  for  atonement, 

And  let  no  passion  interrupt  the  task 

Of  penitence  and  prayer. 

Tul. 

I  '11  pray  no  more. 

There  is  no  mercy  in  the  skies  for  murder; 

Therefore  no  praying,  none. 

I  have  a  plea  for  my  impenitence  — 

Madness. 

These  groans  have  made  me  mad;  all  the  night  through 

They  howled  distraction  to  my  sleepless  brain. 

You  've  shut  me  up  with  furies  to  torment  me, 

And  starved  me  into  madness.     Hark!  again  ! 

Unbar  the  door !     Unbar  it!     By  the  gods, 

The  voice  is  more  than  human  which  I  hear! 

I  '11  enter  there,  I  will  be  satisfied, 

Although  the  confirmation  should  present 

His  awful  form. 

[She  rushes  forward.  The  Tries  tess  and  Vestals, 
in  alarm,  interpose,  hut  cannot  withstand  her. 
She  dashes  against  the  tomb.  The  bars  within, 
fall,  with  a  crash  ;  the  doors  fly  open,  and  re- 
veal a  monumental  figure  of  Servius  Tullius. 
Tullia  recoils,  shrieks,  falls,  and  expires. 

CURTAIN. 


C  Rome.     Before  the  Temple  of  Mars. 

Brutus  and  Collatinus,  as  Consuls, 

&trnc  Jfiretf.  «J      with  Lictors,  Valerius,  Lucretius, 

AND     NUMEROUS      FOLLOWERS,     DISCOV- 
ERED. 

Bru. 

You  judge  me  rightly,  friends.     The  purpled  robe, 
The  curule  chair,  the  lictors'  keen-edged  axe, 
Rejoice  not  Brutus ;  't  is  his  country's  freedom. 
When  once  that  freedom  shall  be  firmly  rooted, 
Then,  with  redoubled  pleasure,  will  your  consul 
Exchange  the  splendid  miseries  of  power 
For  the  calm  comforts  of  a  happy  home. 

[Enter  a  Messenger  L.  i.e. 

Mess. 
All  health  to  Rome,  her  senate,  and  her  consuls. 

Bru. 
Speak  on !     What  message  hast  thou  to  impart  ? 

Mess. 

I  bring  intelligence  of  Sextus  Tarquin, 
Who,  on  arriving  at  a  neighbouring  village, 
Was  known,  and  by  the  people  stoned  to  death. 

|  Messenger  goes  up  stage. 

Bru. 
Now,  Lucretia, 

Thy  ghost  may  cease  to  wander  o'er  the  earth, 
And  rest  in  peace ! 


BRUTUS.  59 

Lucretius. 
Heaven's  ways  are  just ! 

Col. 

Yet  I  regret  the  villain  should  be  slain 
By  any  hand  but  mine. 

f  Enter  a  Centurion  r.  u.  e. 

Cent. 

Health  to  Brutus! 

Shame  and  confusion  to  the  foes  of  Rome  ! 

Bru. 
Now,  without  preface,  soldier,  to  your  business. 

Cent. 

As  I  kept  watch  at  the  Quirinal  gate, 
Ere  break  of  day,  an  armed  company 
Burst,  on  a  sudden,  through  the  barrier  guard, 
Pushing  their  course  for  Ardea.     Straight  alarmed, 
I  wheeled  my  cohort  round,  and  charged  'em  home. 
Sharp  was  the  conflict  for  awhile,  and  doubtful, 
Till  on  the  seizure  of  Tarquinia's  person, 
A  young  patrician 

Bru. 

Ha  !  patrician  ? 

Cent. 
Such 
His  dress  bespoke  him,  though  to  me  unknown. 

Bru. 
Proceed  I     What  more  ? 

Cent. 
The  lady  being  taken, 
This  youth,  the  life  and  leader  of  the  band, 
His  sword  high  waving  in  the  act  to  strike, 
Dropt  his  uplifted  weapon,  and  at  once 
Yielded  himself  my  prisoner. —  O,  Valerius, 
What  have  I  said,  that  thus  the  consul  changes  ? 


6o 


BRUTUS. 


Bru. 
Why  do  you  pause  ?     Go  on. 

Cent. 
Their  leader  seized, 

The  rest  surrendered.     Him,  a  settled  gloom 
Possesses  wholly,  nor,  as  I  believe, 
Hath  a  word  passed  his  lips,  to  all  my  questions 
Still  obstinately  shut. 

Bru. 
Bring  him  before  us. 

[Exit  Centurion  r.  u.  e. 

Val. 
O,  my  brave  friend,  horror  invades  my  heart. 

Bru. 
Silence,  be  calm. 

Val. 

I  know  thy  soul 

A  compound  of  all  excellence,  and  pray 
The  mighty  gods  to  put  thee  to  no  trial 
Beyond  a  mortal  bearing. 

Bru. 

No,  they  will  not  — 

Nay,  be  secure, —  they  cannot.     Prithee,  friend, 

Look  out,  and  if  the  worst  that  can  befall  me 

Be  verified,  turn  back  and  give  some  sign 

What  thou  hast  seen  :  thou  canst  excuse  this  weakness, 

Being  thyself  a  father.  [Valerius  gives  a  sign. 

Ha !     Enough : 

I  understand  thee.     Since  it  must  be  so, 

Do  your  great  pleasure,  gods  !     Now,  now  it  comes  ! 

[Titus  and  Tarquinia  are  brought  in,  guarded, 
R.  u.  E.  Titus  advances.  Tarquinia  remains 
behind. 

Tit. 

My  father !     Give  me  present  death,  ye  powers  ! 


BRUTUS.  6 1 

Cent. 

What  have  I  done  ?     Art  thou  the  son  of  Brutus  ? 

Tit. 

No,  Brutus  scorns  to  father  such  a  son  ! 

O,  venerable  judge,  wilt  thou  not  speak  ?       \  Titus  kneels. 

Turn  not  away  ;  hither  direct  thine  eyes, 

And  look  upon  this  sorrow-stricken  form ; 

Then  to  thine  own  great  heart  remit  my  plea, 

And  doom  as  nature  dictates. 

Val. 

Peace,  you  '11  anger  him  ! 

Be  silent  and  await !     O,  suffering  mercy, 

Plead  in  a  father's  heart,  and  speak  for  nature  ! 

[  Brutus  turns  away  from  his  son,  and  waves  his 
hand  to  the  Centurion  to  remove  him  to  a  little 
distance.     Titus  rises  and  retires. 

Bru. 
Come  hither,  Collatinus.  [Collaiinus  advances  L. 

The  deep  wound 

You  suffered  in  the  loss  of  your  Lucretia 
Demanded  more  than  fortitude  to  bear  : 
I  saw  your  agony,  I  felt  your  woe. 

Col. 
You  more  than  felt  it,  you  revenged  it,  too. 

Bru. 

But,  ah  !  my  brother  consul,  your  Lucretia 
Fell  nobly,  as  a  Roman  spirit  should  ; 
She  fell,  a  model  of  transcendent  virtue. 

Cot. 
My  mind  misgives.     What  dost  thou  aim  at,  Brutus  ? 

Bru. 

That  youth  —  my  Titus  —  was  my  age's  hope; 
I  loved  him  more  than  language  can  express ; 
I  thought  him  born  to  dignify  the  world. 
8 


62 


BRUTUS. 


Col. 
My  heart  bleeds  for  you  !     He  may  yet  be  saved 

Bru. 

Consul — for  Rome  I  live,  not  for  myself: 
I  dare  not  trust  my  firmness  in  this  crisis, 
Warring  'gainst  every  thing  my  soul  holds  dear. 
Therefore  return  without  me  to  the  senate ; 
Haply  my  presence  might  restrain  their  justice. 
Look  that  these  traitors  meet  their  trial  straight, 
And  then  despatch  a  messenger  to  tell  me 
How  the  wise  fathers  have  disposed  of Go! 

\Collati tins  goes  out  r.,  attended,  and  as  Brutus  is 
departing  l.,  Tarquinia  rushes  forward. 

Tar. 

Stop, —  turn  and  hear  the  daughter  of  your  king! 

I  speak  for  justice, —  mercy,  thou  hast  none, — 

For  him,  your  son. 

By  gratitude  and  love  I  drew  him  off. 

I  saved  his  life, — 

Who  shall  condemn  him  for  protecting  mine  ? 

Bru. 

We  try  the  crime  ;  the  motive  heaven  will  judge. 

My  honour  he  hath  stabbed, —  I  pardon  that. 

He  hath  done  more, — he  hath  betrayed  his  country. 

That  is  a  crime  which  every  honest  heart 

That  beats  for  freedom,  every  Roman  feels, 

And  the  full  stream  of  justice  must  have  way. 

Tar. 

Because  thy  soul  was  never  swayed  by  love, 
Canst  thou  not  credit  what  his  bosom  felt  ? 

Bru. 

I  can  believe  that  beauty  such  as  thine 

May  urge  a  thousand  fascinating  snares 

To  lure  the  wavering  and  confound  the  weak; 


BRUTUS.  6$ 

But  what  is  honour,  which  a  sigh  can  shake  ? 
What  is  his  virtue,  whom  a  tear  can  melt  ? 
Truth,  valour,  justice,  constancy  of  soul, — 
These  are  the  attributes  of  manly  natures. 
Be  woman  ne'er  so  beauteous,  man  was  made 
For  nobler  uses  than  to  be  her  slave. 

Tar. 

Hard,  unrelenting  man !     Are  these  the  fruits 

Of  filial  piety,  and  hath  thy  son 

Wearied  the  gods  with  prayers  till  they  restored 

A  mind,  and  gave  thee  reason  ?     Would  to  heaven 

They  'd  given  thee  mercy,  too!  't  would  more  become  thee 

Than  these  new  ensigns,  Brutus;  more  than  all 

Thy  lictors,  haughty  consul,  or  thy  robes 

Dipped  in  the  blood  —  O  horror!  —  of  a  son. 

Bru. 

No  more  !     By  all  the  gods,  I  '11  hear  no  more! 

[  Brutus  goes  L. 
Tit. 
A  word,  for  pity's  sake.  [  Titus  kneels. 

Before  thy  feet, 

Humbled  in  soul,  thy  son  and  prisoner  kneels. 
Love  is  my  plea,  a  father  is  my  judge, 
Nature  my  advocate ;  I  can  no  more. 
If  these  will  not  appease  a  parent's  heart, 
Strike  through  them  all,  and  lodge  thy  vengeance  here ! 

Bru. 

Break  off !     I  will  not,  cannot  hear  thee  further  ! 
The  affliction  nature  hath  imposed  on  Brutus, 
Brutus  will  suffer  as  he  may.     Enough 
That  we  enlarge  Tarquinia.     Go,  be  free! 

[  Titus  rises.      Tarquinia  goes  to  him. 
Centurion,  j  Centurion  advances. 

Give  her  conduct  out  of  Rome. 
Lictors,  attend  :  secure  your  prisoner. 

[Lictors  advance  one  step. 


64  BRUTUS. 

Point  your  axes ! 

[Lie tors  turn  the  edges  of  their  axes  towards  Titus. 
To  the  Senate  !  [Lictors  face  to  r. 

On!  [Exit  Brutus  iu.     Picture.     Scene  closes  in. 


ifcecne  §>cconto. —  A  Room  in  the  House  of  Brutus. 

[Enter  Brutus. 
Bru. 

Like  a  lost,  guilty  wretch,  I  look  around 
And  start  at  every  footstep,  lest  it  bring 
The  fatal  news  of  my  poor  son's  conviction. 

O,  Rome,  thou  little  know'st no  more  —  it  comes. 

[Enter  Valerius  L.  i.  e. 

Val. 

My  friend,  the  senate  have  to  thee  transferred 
The  right  of  judgment  on  thy  son's  offence. 


Bru. 

To  me ! 

Val. 

To  thee  alone. 

Bru. 

What  of  the  rest  ? 

Val. 

Their  sentence  is  already  passed. 

E'en  now,  perhaps,  the  lictor's  dreaded  hand 

Cuts  off  their  forfeit  lives. 

Bru. 

Say'st  thou  the  senate  have  to  me  referred 
The  fate  of  Titus  ? 


BRUTUS.  65 

Veil 

Such  is  their  sovereign  will. 
They  think  you  merit  this  distinguished  honour: 
A  father's  grief  deserves  to  be  revered. 
Rome  will  approve  whatever  you  decree. 

Bru. 
And  is  his  guilt  established  beyond  doubt  ? 

Val. 
Too  clearly. 

Bru. 

O,  ye  gods !  ye  gods  !     Valerius  ! 

Val. 
What  wouldst  thou,  noble  Roman  ? 

Bru. 

'T  is  said  thou  hast  pulled  down  thy  house,  Valerius, 
The  stately  pile  that  with  such  cost  was  reared. 

Val. 
I  have ;  but  what  doth  Brutus  thence  infer  ? 

Bru. 

It  was  a  goodly  structure  :  I  remember 
How  fondly  you  surveyed  its  rising  grandeur ; 
With  what  a  fatherly  delight  you  summoned 
Each  grace  and  ornament  that  might  enrich 
The  child  of  your  creation,  till  it  swelled 
To  an  imperial  size,  and  overpeered 
The  petty  citizens,  that  humbly  dwelt 
Under  its  lofty  walls,  in  huts  and  hovels, 
Like  emmets  at  the  foot  of  towering  ./Etna  ! 
Then,  noble  Roman,  then  with  patriot  zeal, 
Dear  as  it  was,  and  valued,  you  condemned 
And  levelled  the  proud  pile  ;  and,  in  return, 


66  BRUTUS. 

Were  by  your  grateful  countrymen  surnamed, 
And  shall  to  all  posterity  descend, — 
Poplicola. 

Val. 
Yes,  Brutus,  I  conceive 
The  awful  aim  and  drift  of  thy  discourse ; 
But  I  conjure  thee,  pause  !     Thou  art  a  lather. 

Bru. 

I  am  a  Roman  consul !     What,  my  friend, 
Shall  no  one  but  Valerius  love  his  country 
Dearer  than  house,  or  property,  or  children  ? 
Now,  follow  me,  and  in  the  face  of  heaven, 
I  '11  mount  the  judgment  seat ;  there,  see  if  Brutus 
Feel  not  for  Rome  as  warmly  as  Poplicola. 

[Exeunt  l. 


Before  the  Temple  of  Mars.     A  Tri- 
bunal, with  a  Consular  Chair  upon 
s>cnu-  iMiru.  «j       IT      Collatinus,    Lucretius,    Sena- 
(_      tors,  and  Citizens  discovered. 

[Enter  Brutus,  followed    by    Valerius.  —  Brutus 
ascends  the  Tribunal. 

Bru. 

Romans,  the  blood  which  hath  been  shed  this  day 

Hath  been  shed  wisely.     Traitors,  who  conspire 

Against  mature  societies  may  urge 

Their  acts  as  bold  and  daring ;  and  though  villains, 

Yet  they  are  manly  villains ;  but  to  stab 

The  cradled  innocent,  as  these  have  done, 

To  strike  their  country  in  the  mother-pangs 

Of  struggling  childbirth,  and  direct  the  dagger 

To  freedom's  infant  throat,  is  a  deed  so  black, 

That  my  foiled  tongue  refuses  it  a  name.  [A  pause. 


BRUTUS.  67 

There  is  one  criminal  still  left  for  judgment ; 
Let  him  approach. 

[Titus  is  brought  in  by  the  Lie  tors  R.  1.  E. 

Prisoner 

Romans,  forgive  this  agony  of  grief, 
My  heart  is  bursting,  nature  must  have  way : 
I  will  perform  all  that  a  Roman  should, 
1  cannot  feel  less  than  a  father  ought. 

[He  gives  a  signal  to  the  Lictors  to  fall  back,  and 
then  advances  from  the  judgment-seal  to  Titus. 

Well,  Titus,  speak,  how  is  it  with  thee  now  ? 
Tell  me,  my  son,  art  thou  prepared  to  die  ? 

Tit 
Father,  I  call  the  powers  of  heaven  to  witness 
Titus  dares  die,  if  so  you  have  decreed. 
The  gods  will  have  it  so. 

Bru. 

They  will,  my  Titus ; 

Nor  heaven  nor  earth  can  have  it  otherwise. 

It  seems  as  if  thy  fate  were  preordained 

To  fix  the  reeling  spirits  of  the  people, 

And  settle  the  loose  liberty  of  Rome. 

'T  is  fixed.     O,  therefore,  let  not  fancy  cheat  thee: 

So  fixed  thy  death,  that  't  is  not  in  the  power 

Of  mortal  man  to  save  thee  from  the  axe. 

Tit. 
The  axe  !     O,  heaven,  then  must  I  fall  so  basely  ? 
What,  shall  I  perish  like  a  common  felon  ? 

Bru. 

How  else  do  traitors  suffer  ?     Nay,  Titus,  more, 

I  must  myself  ascend  yon  sad  tribunal, 

And  there  behold  thee  meet  this  shame  of  death, — 

With  all  thy  hopes,  and  all  thy  youth  upon  thee ; 

See  thy  head  taken  by  the  common  axe, 

All, —  if  the  gods  can  hold  me  to  my  purpose, — 

Without  one  groan,  without  one  pitying  tear. 


68  BRUTUS. 

Tit. 
Die  like  a  felon  —  ha,  a  common  felon  ! 
But  I  deserve  it  all.     Yet  here  I  fail ; 
This  ignominy  quite  unmans  me. 

O,  Brutus,  Brutus  !     Must  I  call  you  father,  [Kneels. 

Yet  have  no  token  of  your  tenderness, 
No  sign  of  mercy, —  not  even  leave  to  fall 
As  noble  Romans  fall,  by  my  own  sword  ? 
Father,  why  should  you  make  my  heart  suspect 
That  all  your  late  compassion  was  dissembled  ? 
How  can  I  think  that  you  did  ever  love  me  ? 

Bru. 
Think  that  I  love  thee  by  my  present  passion, 
By  these  unmanly  tears,  these  earthquakes  here, 
These  sighs  that  strain  the  very  strings  of  life ; 
Let  these  convince  you  that  no  other  cause 
Could  force  a  father  thus  to  wrong  his  nature. 

[Goes  up  stage. 

Tit. 
O,  hold,  thou  violated  majesty!  [Rises. 

I  now  submit  with  calmness  to  my  fate. 
Come  forth,  ye  executioners  of  justice, 
Come,  take  my  life,  and  give  it  to  my  country ! 

Bru. 
Embrace  thy  wretched  father.     May  the  gods 
Arm  thee  with  patience  in  this  awful  hour ! 
The  sovereign  magistrate  of  injured  Rome 
Condemns 

A  crime,  thy  father's  bleeding  heart  forgives. 
The  violated  genius  of  thy  country 
Rears  his  sad  head  and  passes  sentence  on  thee. 
Go,  meet  thy  death  with  a  more  manly  courage 
Than  grief  now  suffers  me  to  show  in  parting; 
And,  while  she  punishes,  let  Rome  admire  thee ! 
Farewell !     Eternally  farewell ! 

Tit. 
O,  Brutus  !     O,  my  father  ! 


BRUTUS.  69 

Bru. 

What  wouldst  thou  say,  my  son  ? 

Tit. 
Wilt  thou  forgive  me  ? 
When  I  shall  be  no  more,  forget  not  my  Tarquinia. 

Bru. 

Leave  her  to  my  care. 

Tit. 

Farewell,  forever  !  [Kneeling,  slowly. 

Bru. 

Forever!  [Re-ascends   the  Tribunal,  assisted  by   Colla- 

tinus  and  Valerius. 
Lictors,  attend !     Conduct  your  prisoner  forth  ! 

All. 
Whither  ? 

Bru. 
To  death !    [Titus  rises, ,]    When  you  do  reach  the  spot, 
My  hand  shall  wave  your  signal  for  the  axe ; 
Then,  let  the  trumpet's  sound  proclaim  it  done ! 

[Brutus  sits. 
[Titus  is  led  oat  by  the  Lictors.     A  dead  march, 
which  gradually  dies  away.      Brutus  remains, 
seated,  on  the  Tribunal. 
Poor  youth  !     Thy  pilgrimage  is  at  an  end ! 
A  few  sad  steps  have  brought  thee  to  the  brink 
Of  that  tremendous  precipice  whose  depth 
No  thought  of  man  can  fathom.  [Dead  march  ceases. 

Justice  now 

Demands  her  victim  !     A  little  moment, 
And  I  am  childless.     One  effort,  and  't  is  past !  — 

[He  rises  and  waves  his  hand;  three  sounds  of 
the  trumpet  arc  heard. 
Justice  is  satisfied,  and  Rome  is  free ! 

[Brutus  falls.      The  characters  group  around  him. 

CURTAIN. 


BRUTUS. 

APPENDIX. 
I.— Sketch  of  the  Author  of  Brutus. 

JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE  was  born  on  June  9,  1791,  in  a  house 
which  formerly  stood  near  the  corner  of  Pearl  and  Broad  streets, 
New- York.  Of  his  ancestry  but  little  is  known.  His  maternal 
grandfather  was  a  Hebrew,  and,  according  to  the  legend  on  his 
tombstone, —  at  East  Hampton,  Long  Island, —  "an  Israelite,  indeed, 
in  whom  there  was  no  guile."  This  accident  of  Hebrew  lineage  he 
shares  with  some  of  the  most  distinguished  players  that  have  appeared. 
His  childhood  was  passed  at  East  Hampton,  Long  Island,  but  at  an 
early  age  he  was  taken  to  live  in  Boston.  While  still  a  boy  his 
spirit  was  fired  with  emulation  by  the  success,  in  England,  of  "The 
Young  Roscius,"  Master  Betty.  Not  being  permitted  to  act,  however, 
he  became  a  writer  upon  acting,  and  discussed  his  favourite  topic  in  the 
newspapers.  At  this  time  he  became  acquainted  with  Samuel  Wood- 
worth,  author  of  the  "Old  Oaken  Bucket,"  who  was  then  an  appren- 
tice in  a  printing  office,  and  who  chanced  to  be  publishing,  for 
amusement,  a  child's  paper,  called  "The  Fly."  In  this  young  Payne 
assisted ;  till,  after  a  while,  he  was  sent  to  New- York  and  put  into  a 
counting-house,  with  the  special  understanding  that  his  employers 
should,  in  their  care  of  him,  repress,  and,  if  possible,  destroy  his  taste 
for  the  theatre.  Under  these  restraints  he  clandestinely  edited  and 
published  [1806]  a  theatrical  sheet,  called  "The  Thespian  Mirror," 
—which  was  thought  to  display  remarkable  strength  and  maturity  of 
intellect.  Attracted  by  the  promise  of  the  youthful  editor,  a  practical 
friend,  Mr.  John  E.  Seaman,  offered  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his 
education  at  a  University.  This  offer  was  accepted,  and  Payne  left 
the  counting-house  forever. 

It  would  not  seem  that  his  withdrawal  from  trade  was  a  serious  detri- 
ment to  the  mercantile  interest,  nor  that  he  suffered  poignant  regret  at 
the  change  of  occupation.     Fears  were   entertained,  though,  that  he 


72  APPENDIX. 

would  be  spoiled  ;  and  much  gratuitous  advice  —  the  cheap  benevolence 
of  commonplace  persons  —  was  poured  upon  him  from  various  sources. 
He  had  but  few  friends,  it  appears,  who  were  men  of  the  world.  One 
of  these  —  Charles  Brockden  Brown,  the  novelist  —  addressed  him  the 
following  wise  and  gracious  words :  "  Were  it  possible  for  a  miracle  to 
be  wrought  in  your  favour,  and  that  the  experience  of  a  dozen  years 
could  be  obtained  without  living  so  long,  there  would  be  little  danger 
that  a  heart  so  unperverted  as  yours  would  mislead  you.  The  experi- 
ence of  others  will  avail  you  nothing.  They  may  talk,  indeed ;  but, 
until  you  are  as  old  as  the  counsellor,  and  have  seen  with  your  own 
eyes  as  much  as  he  has,  his  words  are  mere  idle  sounds,  impertinent 
and  unintelligible.  Fancy  and  habit  are  supreme  over  your  conduct, 
and  all  your  friends  have  to  trust  to  is  a  heart  naturally  pure  and 
tractable,  and  a  taste,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  for  the  approbation  of  the  wise 
and  good."  In  pursuance  of  his  benefactor's  plan  Payne  was  sent  to 
school  at  Schenectady,  N.  Y.  He  made  a  trip  to  Albany  in  company 
with  Mr.  Brown.  A  journal  which  he  kept,  of  this  trip,  and  which 
would  have  furnished  an  interesting  study  of  his  character,  has  been  lost. 

Payne  did  not  remain  long  at  college,  nor  was  his  experience  there  a 
pleasant  one.  His  friends,  who  were  determined  to  overcome  his 
inclination  for  the  stage,  established  over  him  a  system  of  injudicious 
espial.  His  allowance  of  money  was  limited,  and  his  instructors  were 
admonished  to  "draw  a  tight  rein  "  in  the  management  of  their  pupil. 
Two  events  soon  occurred,  which,  sad  as  they  were,  so  beneficially 
affected  his  fortunes  as  to  turn  into  its  natural  channel  the  current  of  a 
life  which  otherwise  might  have  been  passed  in  uncongenial  pursuits. 
His  mother  died,  and  his  father  became  bankrupt. 

In  this  emergency  Payne  determined  to  fulfil  his  long  cherished 
ambition  and  become  an  actor.  "A  slow,  reluctant  and  weeping  leave  " 
was  granted  by  his  friends,  and  on  February  24,  1809,  being  then  seven- 
teen, he  made  his  first  appearance  on  the  stage  —  at  the  old  Park 
Theatre,  New-York,  in  the  character  of  Young  Norval.  "His  face," 
says  Dunlap,  "was  remarkably  handsome,  his  countenance  full  of 
intelligence,  and  his  manner  fascinating."  On  April  3d,  the  same  year, 
he  played,  as  Young  Norval,  in  Boston,  and  was  welcomed  with  enthu- 
siasm. On  the  17th  of  May  he  began  a  second  engagement  in  New- 
York,  and  played  in  succession  Young  Norval,  Hastings,  Octavian, 
Frederick  Fitsroy,  Rolla,  Edgar,  and  Hamlet.  "  Hamlet"  was  produced 
for  his  benefit.  The  engagement  lasted  six  nights  ;  the  average  receipts 
were  $500  a  night ;  his  benefit  cleared  $755.  He  then  went  to  Phila- 
delphia and  Baltimore,  in  both  of  which  places   he  found  the  theatres 


APPENDIX.  73 

closed  against  him.  This  reverse  of  fortune  was  attributed  to  the 
influence  of  Stephen  Price,  the  manager  of  the  Park  Theatre, 
with  whom  he  had  quarrelled.  His  cause,  however,  was  espoused  by 
good  friends,  and  his  reception  by  the  warm-hearted  citizens  of  Balti- 
more proved  entirely  cordial.  In  a  fortnight  he  had  earned  $1,500. 
He  also  played  successful  engagements  at  Richmond,  Charleston  and 
Washington.  It  is  said  that  Henry  Placide  first  attracted  attention  by 
the  imitations  he,  at  this  period,  gave  of  the  acting  of  Payne.  From 
Baltimore  Payne  returned  to  New- York,  where  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  George  Frederick  Cooke.  "  I  thought  him  a  polite,  sensible  youth," 
says  Cooke,  "and  the  reverse  of  our  young  Roscius."  On  the  18th  of 
March,  1811,  Cooke  played  Lear,  and  Payne  Edgar,  at  the  Park  Theatre, 
with  much  success.  Payne  then  revisited  Boston,  Philadelphia,  and 
Baltimore,  and  played  successful  engagements  in  each  city.  His 
early  theatrical  career  in  America  was  as  short  as  it  was  brilliant. 
As  a  young  actor  he  won  the  applause  of  the  people,  the  approbation  of 
competent  judges,  and  a  distinguished  rank  in  his  profession ;  and, 
when  he  departed,  to  pursue  his  fortunes  in  the  old  world,  it  was  with 
bright  prospect  of  increasing  excellence  and  fair  renown.  On  January 
17th,  1813,  he  embarked  at  Baltimore,  in  the  ship  "  Catherine  Ray,"  and 
sailed  for  Liverpool.  It  was  war  time  when  he  arrived  in  England,  and 
the  policy  with  which  American  travellers  should  be  treated  had  not  yet 
been  determined  by  the  Government.  So  the  party  of  which  he  was  a 
member  was  imprisoned  for  two  nights.  After  his  release  he  wrote  to 
Whitebread,  and  procured  an  engagement  at  Drury  Lane,  where,  on 
June  4,  1813,  he  acted,  in  "Douglas."  Mrs.  Powell,  from  Covent 
Garden,  supported  him  in  the  part  of  Lady  Randolph.  To  this  lady  he 
wrote,  next  day,  a  letter  of  thanks.  She  answered:  "If  you  saw  any 
merit  in  my  playing  Lady  Randolph,  it  was  entirely  owing  to  a  son  I 
felt  proud  of."  On  a  later  occasion  he  again  played  in  "Douglas," 
winning  from  one  of  the  journals  of  London  the  following  well-tempered 
approval :  "  A  little  study  under  judicious  instruction  will  soon  correct  the 
trifling  deficiencies  which  are  discernible  in  his  enunciation,  while,  by  the 
aid  of  a  fencing  and  dancing  master,  he  may  acquire  more  graceful  atti- 
tudes than  he  now  exhibits.  In  all  other  respects  nature  has  endowed 
him  with  every  quality  for  a  great  actor.  He  possesses  all  the  simplicity 
which  is  the  result  of  a  fine  taste,  and  he  appears  to  have  a  chasteness 
of  feeling  and  a  judiciousness  of  conception  which  never  suffer  him  to  run 
into  those  vicious  extravagances  so  common  in  blustering,  half-formed 
actors.  He  speaks  at  once  to  the  sober  senses,  to  the  feelings,  and  to 
the  heart.     In  passages  where  no  vehemence  of  feeling  is  required  he 


74  APPENDIX. 

is  calm,  temperate  arid  interesting.  He  never  rants  unnecessarily. 
His  own  discretion  is  his  tutor.  Such  is  the  character  of  this  young 
gentleman,  who  makes  a  fairer  promise  than  any  juvenile  adventurer 
we  have  ever  seen." 

His  next  appearance  was  in  "  Romeo."  J.  W.  Wallack,  the  founder 
of  Wallack's  Theatre,  played  the  Prince  on  this  night,  and  his 
brother,  Henry  Wallack,  appeared  as  Abram.  A  false  report  was  at 
this  time  circulated,  that  Payne  was  an  illegitimate  son  of  Thomas 
Payne,  author  of  "Common  Sense,"  and  the  "Age  of  Reason."  On 
the  15th  of  July,  1813,  at  Liverpool,  he  played  Hamlet,  and  on  a  subse- 
quent evening  he  had  a  brilliant  benefit  there.  From  Liverpool  he  went 
to  Ireland,  where  he  played  successful  engagements  at  Dublin  and 
Cork.  The  famous  Miss  O'Neill  supported  him  in  both,  and  when,  at 
Cork,  he  played  for  his  benefit  as  Norval  and  as  Petruchio,  that  brilliant 
actress  appeared  as  Lady  Randolph  and  Katherine,  and  divided  with  him 
the  laurels  of  victorious  effort.  While  in  Ireland  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Daniel  O'Connell  and  Charles  Phillips,  by  both  of  whom  he  was 
esteemed.  In  a  speech  at  a  dinner  given  in  honour  of  Payne,  on  Innis- 
fallen  Island,  Phillips  remarked  that,  "  to  be  associated  with  Mr.  Payne 
must  be,  to  any  one  who  regards  private  virtues  and  personal  accom- 
plishments, a  source  of  peculiar  pride."  On  leaving  Ireland  Payne 
went  to  Paris,  where  he  gained  the  good-will  of  Talma,  and  also  frater- 
nized with  Lord  Byron's  friend,  Sir  John  Cam  Hobhouse,  who  happened 
to  be  there.  He  had  by  this  time  satiated  his  fancy  for  acting,  and  he 
appears  to  have  determined  to  devote  himself  exclusively  to  dramatic 
authorship.  He  first  adapted  a  French  piece  and  called  it  "The 
Maid  and  the  Magpie."  This  was  sold  to  Harris,  of  Covent  Garden, 
for  .£150.  He  then  agreed  with  Douglass  Kinnaird,  manager  of  Drury 
Lane,  to  reside  in  Paris  and  to  furnish,  for  that  Theatre,  versions  of 
French  novelties,  as  they  should  occur.  Here  began  his  career  as  a 
dramatist.  It  is  recorded  by  Dunlap,  in  his  "  History  of  the  American 
Theatre,"  that  at  the  outset  Payne  declined  a  permanent  situation  in  the 
stock  company  of  Drury  Lane.  "The  charms  of  starring  were  pre- 
ferred," says  that  historian,  "and,  finally,  literary  pursuits,  particularly 
those  connected  with  the  drama,  withdrew  him  altogether  from  the 
profession  of  an  actor." 

Payne's  engagement  with  Drury  Lane  did  not  last  long.  He 
then  made  a  contract,  both  literary  and  theatrical,  with  Covent 
Garden.  The  history  of  this  part  of  his  life  is  merely  a  record  of  wasting 
struggles  with  misfortune.  He  seems  to  have  been  quite  unable  to 
take  care  of  himself.     He  wrote  and  produced  a  number  of  pieces;  he 


APPENDIX. 


75 


managed  several  theatres,  in  different  parts  of  England  ;  and  some  of  his 
enterprizes  were  successful  ;  but  he  was  almost  always  in  difficulties. 
One  of  his  last  efforts,  in  London,  was  for  the  establishment  of  a 
theatrical  paper,  called  the  "  Opera  Glass,"  which  he  edited  during  a 
part  of  the  year  1826.  It  gave  him  continual  anxiety,  and  at  last  brought 
on  a  fever,  from  which  he  barely  escaped  alive.  This  sort  of  experi- 
ence in  foreign  lands  finally  became  monotonous,  and  he  resolved  to 
return  to  the  United  States.  He  arrived  in  New-York,  January 
16th,  1833,  having  been  absent  twenty  years.  Most  of  Payne's  plays 
were  written  during  his  residence  abroad,  and  nearly  all  of  them  were 
first  produced  in  English  theatres.  His  tragedies  are:  "Brutus: 
or,  The  Fall  of  Tarquin  ;  "  "Romulus,"  written  for  Edwin  Forrest, 
but  never  performed;  "Virginia;  or,  The  Patrician's  Perfidy;" 
"  Oswali,  of  Athens;"  "Richelieu;  or,  The  Broken  Heart;"  "The 
Italian  Bride;"  "  Lovers' Vows  ;  "  and  "The  Wanderer" — writ- 
ten when  he  was  fourteen  years  of  age.  "  Brutus"  was  first  pro- 
duced December  3d,  1818,  at  Drury  Lane,  with  a  prologue  written  by 
Rev.  Dr.  Croly,  and  it  ran  fifty-one  nights.  The  part  of  Brutus  was 
nobly  acted  by  Edmund  Kean.  The  tragedy  of  "  Richelieu,"  which 
was  originally  dedicated  to  Washington  Irving,  was  also  first  produced 
at  Drury  Lane.  It  seems  to  have  been  based  on  Duval's  play,  "La 
jeunesse  de  Richelieu."  In  our  day  it  has  been  somewhat  modernized 
by  Mrs.  Catherine  Farren ;  and  it  is  still  occasionally  played,  as  "The 
Bankrupt's  Wife."  Payne's  dramas,  twenty-one  in  number,  are  named 
as  follows  :  "  The  Spanish  Husband  ;  "  "  Thdrese  ;  or,  The  Orphan  of 
Geneva;"  "  Norah  ;  or,  The  Girl  of  Erin;"  "Adeline;  or,  Seduc- 
tion ;  "  "  The  Two  Galley  Slaves  ;  "  "  The  Rival  Monarchs  ;  "  "  Paoli ;  " 
"The  Solitary  of  Mount  Savage;"  "Ali  Pacha;"  "The  Insepara- 
bles;" "  The  Maid  and  Magpie  ;  "  "Accusation  ;  "  "  The  Guilty  Mother ;" 
"  The  Man  of  the  Black  Forest ;  "  "  Madame  De  Barri  ;  "  "  The  Festi- 
val of  St.  Mark;"  "The  Bridge  of  Kehl ;  "  "The  Judge  and  the 
Attorney;  "  "  The  Mill  of  the  Lake  ;  "  "  Mazeppa ;  "  and  "  Novido,  the 
Neapolitan."  "  The're'se "  and  "The  Galley  Slaves"  are  from  the 
French. 

Payne  also  wrote  five  operas,  namely  :  "  Clari,  the  Maid  of  Milan  ;  " 
"The  White  Maid"  (or,  "The  White  Lady");  "The  Tyrolese 
Peasant ;  "  "  Visitandines  ;  "  and  "  England's  Good  Old  Days."  "  Clari, 
the  Maid  of  Milan,"  was  the  most  popular  of  these  pieces.  It  con- 
tains the  song  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  for  which  the  author  re- 
ceived $200.  It  was  first  produced  at  Covent  Garden,  under  the  man- 
agement of  Charles  Kemble,  on  May  8th,  1823.     The  music  was  written 


j6  APPENDIX. 

by  Sir  Henry  Bishop,  who,  however,  obtained  the  air  to  "  Sweet  Home" 
from  an  old  Sicilian  melody.  The  original  was  found  among  his 
papers,  after  his  death,  but  the  name  of  the  author  is  not  known. 
Payne's  farces  are,  "  Fricandeau  ;  or,  The  Coronet  and  the  Cook;  " 
"  The  Post  Chaise  ;  "  "  'T  was  I  ;  "  "  Mrs.  Smith  ;  "  "  Love  in  Humble 
Life  ;  "  "  The  Lancers  ;  "  "  Grandpapa  ;  "  "  Peter  Smink  ;  "  and  "  Not 
Invited."  His  comedies  are,  "  Charles  the  Second;  or,  The  Merry 
Monarch  ;  "  "  Procrastination  ;  "  "  Married  and  Single  ;  "  "  Pilots  at 
Home;"  "Woman's  Revenge;"  and  "All  for  the  Best."  Of  these 
"Charles  the  Second"  is  still  popular.  Its  incidents  and  situations  are 
identical  with  those  of  "  La  Jeunesse  de  Henri  V. ; "  but  the  dialogue 
differs,  especially  in  the  part  of  "  Captain  Copp,"  a  character  original 
with  Payne.  The  piece  was  first  produced  at  Covent  Garden,  in  1824, 
with  Mr.  Kemble  as  Charles  the  Second. 

On  his  return  to  America,  Payne  was  received  with  the  cordiality 
naturally  excited  by  the  presence  of  a  public  favourite.  Soon  after  his 
arrival,  a  complimentary  benefit  was  offered  to  him,  at  the  Park  Theatre, 
where  he  played  with  distinguished  success.  He  also  received  the  tes- 
timonial of  a  public  dinner,  where  much  good  feeling  was  illustrated 
with  many  speeches.  Nor  were  the  citizens  of  Boston  less  ardent  in 
friendly  demonstrations  than  those  of  New-York.  On  April  3d, 
1833,  ne  appeared  there,  by  invitation,  at  the  old  Tremont  Theatre,  and 
played,  for  his  benefit,  in  selections  from  "  Love  in  Humble  Life," 
"  The're'se,"  "The  Lancers,"  and  "  Charles  the  Second."  This  circum- 
stance is  noted  by  W.  W.  Clapp,  in  his  excellent  "  Record  of  the 
Boston  Stage,"  as  follows  :  "Although  the  selection  of  the  pieces  was 
a  very  graceful  compliment  to  the  beneficiary,  and  very  appropriate  to 
the  occasion,  it  proved  unfortunate,  as  they  had  been  acted  here  a  hun- 
dred times.  The  night  selected  was  also  unpropitious,  preceding,  as 
it  did,  the  general  Fast,  when  many  families  in  the  city  unite  in  general 
gatherings.  These  and  other  causes  rendered  the  attempt — so  far  as 
pecuniary  reward  was  intended  —  a  partial  failure  ;  but  the  character  of 
the  audience  gave  proof  of  the  estimation  in  which  Mr.  Payne  was  held, 
both  as  a  man  and  as  an  author."  Apiece  of  verse,  written  for  this 
occasion  by  Park  Benjamin,  was  recited,  as  an  "Address"  by  Mrs. 
George  Barrett.  At  its  close  the  band  played  "  Sweet  Home,"  and 
then,  in  answer  to  the  general  call,  Payne  made  a  speech  of  thanks. 

Payne  now  established  his  residence  in  New- York,  and  issued  pro- 
posals for  a  new  magazine.  His  enterprize  was  designed  on  a  grand 
scale,  but  it  was  never  fulfilled.  He  also  proposed  to  publish  a  "  Life 
of  the  Saviour," — as  a  sort  of  harmony  of  the  Gospels, —  but,  finding 


APPENDIX.  77 

that  such  a  book  was  already  in  existence,  he  abandoned  the  intention. 
Afterwards  lie  took  to  politics,  and,  in  the  Summer  of  1841, 
received  from  President  Tyler,  the  appointment  of  U.  S.  Consul 
at  Tunis.  Under  Polk's  administration  he  was  recalled,  but  was  re- 
appointed to  the  same  Consulate  by  Daniel  Webster,  in  1850.  He  died 
at  Tunis,  April  9th,  1852. 

It  is  impressive  to  reflect  that  the  man  who  in  writing  the  song  of 
"Sweet  Home"  set  to  music  one  of  the  strongest  emotions  which 
agitate  universal  humanity  should  have  been  a  wanderer  most  of  his 
life,  having  no  home,  and  finding  his  grave,  at  last,  after  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  sixty  years,  in  a  far  off,  foreign  land.  This  circumstance,  while 
it  heightens  the  romantic  interest  of  his  experience,  affords  an  index  to 
his  character.  Refined,  full  of  sensibility,  guided  by  a  true  taste,  and 
impelled  by  earnest  aspirations,  pure-hearted,  amiable,  unselfish, 
with  the  temperament  of  the  philosopher  and  the  poet,  he  was 
unfitted  for  rough  contact  with  the  world ;  and,  having  in  many  ways 
been  checked  and  disappointed,  he  was  driven  into  that  isolation  of  mind 
and  life  which  is  the  natural  refuge  of  wounded  sensibility  and  dejected 
ambition.  Payne's  life  was  what  is  called  unsuccessful.  His  abilities 
did  not,  it  is  said,  fulfil  their  early  promise.  He  gained  some  reputa- 
tion, indeed,  and  he  wrote  some  good  things,  but  he  was  always  poor, 
and  he  died  poor.  But,  throughout  his  life,  he  did,  faithfully  and  well, 
whatever  work  there  was  for  him  to  do,  and  he  has  left  the  pure 
memory  of  a  gentleman.  These  lines  are  on  his  tomb-stone, —  in  St. 
George's  cemetery,  at  Tunis,  which  overlooks  the  ruins  of  Carthage: 

"  Sure,  when  thy  gentle  spirit  fled 

To  realms  beyond  the  azure  dome, 
With  arms  outstretched  God's  angels  said, 

Welcome  to  Heaven's  '  Home,  Sweet  Home!'  " 

William  Winter. 

II.— The  Author's  Preface  to  Brutus. 

"This  tragedy  is  submitted  to  the  public  with  the  most  grateful  sen 
of  the  kindness  with  which   it  has  been  honoured.     It  was  originally 
intended  to  be  published  as  sent  to  the  Theatre  ;  but  the  omissions  and 
changes    consequent    on    its    being  performed  were  numerous.     The 
reader  will  now  find  it  in  every  respect  a  copy  from  the  prompt-book.* 

*  This,  of  course,  alludes  to  the  original  print  of  the  tragedy.    The  present  version,  as 
described  in  my  preface,  differs  from  it  in  many  respects.— W.  W. 


78  APPENDIX. 

The  imperfect  lines  which  sometimes  occur  in  the  verse  have  arisen  from 
this  determination  to  make  the  conformity  complete. 

"  Seven  plays  upon  the  subject  of  Brutus  are  before  the  public.  Only 
two  have  been  thought  capable  of  representation,  and  those  two  did  not 
long  retain  possession  of  the  stage.  In  the  present  play  I  have  had  no 
hesitation  in  adopting  the  conception  and  language  of  my  predecessors, 
wherever  they  seemed  likely  to  strengthen  the  plan  which  I  had  pre- 
scribed. This  has  been  so  done  as  to  allow  of  no  injury  to  personal 
feelings  or  private  property.  Such  obligations,  to  be  culpable,  must  be 
secret ;  but  it  may  be  observed  that  no  assistance  of  other  writers  can 
be  available  without  an  effort  almost,  if  not  altogether,  as  laborious  as 
original  composition. 

**  I  am  reluctant  to  select  peculiar  subjects  of  praise  when  I  found  zeal 
and  politeness  so  universal ;  but  I  must  be  permitted  to  add  my  grati- 
tude to  the  public  admiration  of  Mr.  Kean's  most  masterly  and  splendid 
performance  of  the  principal  character.  Mrs.  Glover,  too,  has  claims 
on  me  which  must  not  be  forgotten.  The  play  was  introduced  by  her  to 
the  theatre,  and  its  share  of  public  favour  must  be  largely  attributed  to 
the  critical  taste  of  this  very  amiable  and  intelligent  woman. 

"  To  the  sub-committee  and  the  manager  I  also  beg  to  return  my  grate- 
ful thanks. 

John  Howard  Payne. 

"Southampton  Street,  Covent  Garden,  London,  Dec.  9,  1818." 


III. —  Historical  Facts  about  Brutus. 

"  Lucius  Junius  Brutus  figures  in  the  legendary  history  of  early 
Rome  as  the  hero  who  overturned  the  monarchical  and  established 
the  republican  form  of  government.  The  legend  runs  that  he  was 
the  son  of  a  rich  Roman.  On  his  father's  death,  Tarquin  the 
Proud  took  possession  of  the  property,  and  put  an  elder  brother  to 
death,  and  Brutus  himself  only  escaped  the  same  fate  by  feigning 
idiocy.  [Hence  the  name,  Brutus  —  stupid.]  The  oracle  of  Delphi 
foretold  that  he  should  govern  in  Rome.  Remembering  his  own 
wrongs,  and  gifted  with  the  strength  and  wisdom  of  one  who  was 
fulfilling  the  decrees  of  fate,  Brutus  — when  the  foul  crime  committed 
by  one  of  the  royal  family  upon  Lucretia  had  shocked  the  people- 
convoked  them,  placed  himself  at  their  head,  and  drove  the  kings  from 
Rome.  He  is  said  to  have  been  then  elected  one  of  the  two  first 
Consuls  (509  B.  C.).     That  his  character  as  a  stern  old    Roman  hero 


APPENDIX.  79 

might  be  complete,  the  legend  adds  that  he  sacrificed  to  the  new 
republic  his  own  sons,  detected  in  a  conspiracy  to  destroy  it;  and  that,  at 
last,  he  fell  in  mortal  combat,  repelling  an  attack  led  on  by  one  of  the 
sons  of  Tarquin.  Little  more,  however,  can  be  said  to  be  established 
upon  sufficient  historical  evidence  as  to  Brutus  than  that  there  existed 
a  person  of  that  name,  who  held  high  office  in  Rome,  at  a  very  early 
period."— Chambers's  Encyclopedia,  vol.  ii.,  p.  390. 


IV.— Costume,  Weapons,  and  other  Accessories  for 

Brutus. 

The  historic  period  of  "  Brutus"  was  one  of  remote  antiquity, — 509 
B.  C, —  and  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  accessories  of  Roman  life,  in 
his  time,  were  less  elaborate,  sumptuous,  and  splendid  than  they  became 
in  a  later  age.  Absolute  accuracy  in  the  scenes  and  dresses  for  this 
tragedy  is  impossible.  A  general  conformity  with  the  customs  and  attri- 
butes of  ancient  Rome  should  be  deemed  sufficient.  These  models  are 
set  forth  in  the  following  extract  from  Thomas  Hope's  "  Costume  of  the 
Ancients  "  [H.  G.  Bohn,  London,  1841],  Vol.  i,  page  39,  et  seq. :  — 

"  The  pre-eminent  dress  of  the  Romans,  and  which  distinguished  them 
in  the  most  marked  way,  as  well  from  the  Greeks  as  from  the  Barbarians, 
was  the  toga.  This  they  seem  to  have  derived  from  their  neighbours  the 
Etrurians  ;  and  it  may  be  called  their  true  national  garb.  In  the  earliest 
ages  of  Rome  it  appears  to  have  been  worn  by  the  women  as  well  as  by 
the  men,  by  the  lowest  orders  as  well  as  by  the  highest,  at  home  as  well 
as  abroad,  in  the  country  as  well  as  in  town.  Love  of  novelty  probably 
caused  it  first  to  be  relinquished  by  the  women ;  next,  motives  of  con- 
venience, by  the  men  in  lower  stations  ;  and  afterwards,  fondness  of  ease 
and  unconstraint,  even  by  the  men  of  higher  rank,  when  enjoying  the 
obscurity  of  private  life,  or  the  retirement  of  the  country.  From  the  un- 
successful attempts,  however,  first  of  Augustus,  and  afterwards  of 
Domitian,  entirely  to  abolish  a  dress  which  still  continued  to  remind  the 
people  more  forcibly  than  was  wished  of  their  ancient  liberty,  it  appears 
that  the  toga  remained  the  costume  of  state  and  representation  with  the 
patricians,  nay,  with  the  emperors  themselves,  unto  the  last  days  of 
Rome's  undivided  splendour;  and  we  may,  I  think,  assert  that  not  until 
the  empire  was  transferred  to  Constantinople  did  the  toga  become  en- 
tirely superseded  by  that  more  decidedly  Grecian  dress,  the  pallium. 

"  Infinite  have  been  the  queries  of  the  learned,  whether  the  toga  of  the 
Romans  was,  like  the  peplum  of  the  Greeks,  a  square  piece  of  stuff; 


80  APPENDIX. 

whether  it  was  a  round  one ;  or  whether,  preserving  a  medium  between 
these  two  extremes,  it  offered  one  side  straight,  and  the  other  rounded  off 
in  a  semicircle.  To  judge  from  the  numberless  statues  dressed  in  togas, 
in  none  of  which  there  appear  any  corners  perfectly  square,  though  in 
all  of  them  may  be  traced  some  hems  or  edges  describing  a  straight,  and 
others,  a  curved  line,  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  semicircular  to  have 
been  the  true  form  of  the  toga. 

"Great  pains  have  also  been  taken  to  discover  whether  the  toga  derived 
its  form  on  the  body,  like  the  pallium,  from  the  mere  spontaneous  throw 
of  the  whole  garment,  or,  like  modern  dresses,  from  some  studious  and 
permanent  contrivance  to  model  and  to  fasten  together  the  different  com- 
ponent parts.  No  tacks  or  fastenings  of  any  sort,  indeed,  are  visible  in  the 
toga,  but  their  existence  may  be  inferred  from  the  great  formality  and 
little  variation  displayed  in  its  divisions  and  folds.  In  general  the  toga 
seems  not  only  to  have  formed,  as  it  were,  a  short  sleeve  to  the  right 
arm,  which  was  left  unconfined,  but  to  have  covered  the  left  arm  down 
to  the  wrist. 

"A  sort  of  loop  or  bag  of  folds  was  made  to  hang  over  the  sloped 
drapery  in  front,  and  the  folds  were  ample  enough  in  the  back  to  admit 
of  the  garment  being  occasionally  drawn  over  the  head,  as  it  was  cus- 
tomary to  do  during  religious  ceremonies,  and  also,  probably,  in  rainy 
weather. 

"The  material  of  the  toga  was  wool.  The  colour,  in  early  ages,  its 
own  natural  yellowish  hue.  In  later  periods  this  seems,  however,  only 
to  have  been  retained  in  the  togas  of  the  higher  orders  ;  inferior  persons 
wearing  theirs  dyed,  and  candidates  for  public  offices  bleached  by  an 
artificial  process.  In  times  of  mourning  the  toga  was  worn  black,  or 
was  left  off  altogether. 

"  Priests  and  magistrates  wore  the  toga  pretexta,  or  toga  edged  with  a 
purple  border,  called  pretexta.  This  toga  pretexta  was,  as  well  as  the 
bulla,  or  small  round  gold  box  suspended  on  the  breast  by  way  of  an 
amulet,  worn  by  all  youths  of  noble  birth,  to  the  age  of  fifteen ;  when 
both  these  insignia  of  juvenility  were  deposed  together,  for  the  toga 
without  rim  or  border,  called  the  togapura. 

"  The  Knights  wore  the  trabea,  or  toga  striped  with  purple  throughout ; 
and  the  Generals  during  their  triumphal  entries  were  clad  in  a  toga 
entirely  of  purple,  to  which  gradually  became  added  a  rich  embroidery 
of  gold. 

' '  The  tunic,  of  later  introduction  among  the  Romans  than  the  toga,  was 
regarded  as  a  species  of  luxury,  and  was  discarded  by  those  who  dis- 
played and  affected  humility,  such  as  candidates  and  others.     The  tunic 


APPENDIX.  8l 

of  the  men  only  reached  half  way  clown  the  thigh;  longer  tunics  being 
regarded  in  the  male  sex  as  a  mark  of  effeminacy,  and  left  to  women  and 
to  eastern  nations.  The  inferior  functionaries  at  sacrifices  wore  the  tunic 
without  the  toga ;  so  did  the  soldiers,  when  in  the  camp.  The  tunic  of 
senators  was  edged  round  *  with  a  broad  purple  border,  called  laticlavus; 
and  that  of  the  knights  with  a  narrow  purple  border,  called  angusticlavus. 

"  I  shall  here  observe  that  the  hue  denominated  purple  by  the  ancients 
seems  to  have  run  through  all  the  various  shades  of  colour  intervening 
between  scarlet,  crimson,  and  the  deep  reddish  blue  called  purple  at  the 
present  day. 

"  The  pallium,  or  mantle  of  the  Greeks,  from  its  being  less  cumbersome 
and  trailing  than  the  toga  of  the  Romans,  by  degrees  superseded  the 
latter  in  the  country  and  in  the  camp.  When  worn  over  armour,  and 
fastened  on  the  right  shoulder  with  a  clasp  or  button,  this  cloak  assumed 
the  name  of  paludamentum. 

"  The  common  people  used  to  wear  a  sort  of  cloak  made  of  very  coarse 
brown  wool,  and  provided  with  a  hood,  which  was  called  cucullus.  This 
hooded  cloak,  always  given  to  Telesphorus,  the  youthful  companion  of 
Esculapius,  remains  to  this  day  the  usual  protection  against  cold  and 
wet  with  all  the  seafaring  inhabitants  both  of  the  islands  of  the  Archipel- 
ago and  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 

"  The  Roman  ladies  wore,  by  way  of  under  garment,  a  long  tunic 
descending  to  the  feet,  and  more  peculiarly  denominated  stola.  This 
vestment  assumed  all  the  variety  of  modification  displayed  in  the  corre- 
sponding attire  of  the  Grecian  females.  Over  the  stola,  they  also  adopted 
the  Grecian  peplum,  under  the  name  of  palla ;  which  palla,  however, 
was  never  worn  among  the  Romans,  as  the  peplum  was  among  the 
Greeks,  by  men.  This  external  covering,  as  may  be  observed  in  the 
statues  of  Roman  empresses,  displayed  the  same  varieties  of  drapery  or 
throw  at  Rome  as  at  Athens. 

"  The  togati  seem  to  have  worn  a  sort  of  short  boot  or  shoe,  with  straps 
crossed  over  the  instep,  called  calceus.  The  foot  covering  of  the  ladies 
at  first  had  the  same  shape  ;  but  by  degrees  this  latter  assumed  all  the 
varieties  of  form  of  the  Grecian  sandal.  Like  all  other  nations  in  whom 
were  combined  great  opulence  wherewith  to  foment  the  exuberances 
of  fashion  and  little  taste  through  which  to  check  its  pruriencies,  the 
Romans  carried  to  a  great  pitch  the  shapeless  extravagance  of  some 
parts  of  their  attire,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  absurd  head-dresses  of  the 
busts  of  Roman  matrons,  preserved  in  the  Capitol. 

*  Or  striped  down  the  front.     The  controversy  respecting  this  mark  of  dignity  will  be  endless, 
unless  some  painting  is  discovered  to  settle  the  question. 


82  APPENDIX. 

"  The  Romans,  like  the  Greeks,  had  peculiar  dresses  appropriated  to 
peculiar  offices  and  dignities.  The  Flamens,  or  priests  of  Jupiter,  wore 
a  pointed  cap  or  helmet,  called  apex,  with  a  ball  of  cotton  wound  round 
the  spike.  The  priests  that  ministered  to  other  deities  wore  the  infula, 
or  twisted  fillet,  from  which  descended  on  each  side,  along  the  neck, 
flowing  ribands. 

"Wreaths  of  various  sorts  were  in  use  among  the  Romans,  as  well  as 
among  the  Greeks,  and  were  chiefly  given  as  rewards  of  military  achieve- 
ments. The  corona  castrensis,  wrought  in  imitation  of  a  palisado,  was 
presented  to  whoever  had  been  the  first  to  penetrate  into  an  enemy's 
camp.  The  corona  muralis,  shaped  in  the  semblance  of  battlements,  to 
whoever  had  been  the  first  to  scale  the  walls  of  a  besieged  city.  The 
civic  crown,  formed  of  oak  leaves,  to  whoever  had  saved  the  life  of  a 
citizen ;  and  the  naval  crown,  composed  of  the  rostra,  or  beaks  of  gal- 
leys, to  whoever  had  been  the  first  to  board  the  vessel  of  an  enemy. 

"  When  the  arts  felLinto  a  total  decline,  glitter  of  materials  became  the 
sole  substitute  for  beauty  of  forms ;  and  hence  the  Grecian  and  Roman 
portraits  of  the  middle  ages  are  loaded  from  head  to  foot  with  pearls  and 
precious  stones,  intermixed  with  large  cameos. 

"  The  armour  of  the  Romans  seems  chiefly  to  have  been  that  of  the 
Greeks  of  the  same  periods.  The  helmet  with  the  fixed  visor,  and  which 
required  being  thrown  back  in  its  whole  in  order  to  uncover  the  face, 
fell  very  early  into  disuse  in  the  very  heart  of  Greece  itself,  and  never 
appears  on  Roman  figures.  On  these  the  cuirass,  or  lorica,  when  belong- 
ing to  distinguished  personages,  generally  follows  the  outline  of  the  ab- 
domen, and  appears  hammered  out  into  all  the  natural  convexities  and 
concavities  of  the  human  body.  It  was  often  enriched,  on  the  belly,  with 
embossed  figures  ;  on  the  breast  with  a  Gorgon's  head  by  way  of  amu- 
let; and  on  the  shoulder-plates  with  scrolls,  thunderbolts,  etc.  This 
cuirass  was  made  to  open  at  the  sides,  where  the  breast  and  back  plates 
joined  by  means  of  clasps  and  hinges.  One  or  more  rows  of  straps, 
richly  adorned  and  fringed,  descended  by  way  of  protection,  not  only 
over  the  thighs,  but  also  down  the  upper  arms.  The  cuirass  of  the  com- 
mon soldiers  often  was  cut  simply  round,  and  destitute  of  such  straps. 
Sometimes  this  latter  was  formed  of  metal  hoops  or  plates,  sliding  over 
each  other;  sometimes  of  small  scales,  equally  pliant ;  and  sometimes  of 
a  plain  surface  of  metal  or  leather.  The  Roman  soldiers  wore  no 
greaves,  but  either  used  sandals  tied  with  strings,  or  short  boots  laced 
before,  and  lined  with  the  skin  of  some  animal,  of  which  the  muzzle  and 
claws  were  displayed  as  an  ornamental  finish. 

"  The   Roman  shield  seems  never  to  have  resembled  the  large  round 


APPENDIX.  8$ 

buckler  used  by  the  Greeks,  nor  the  crescent-shaped  one  peculiar  to  the 
Asiatics ;  but  to  have  offered  an  oblong  square,  or  an  oval,  or  a  hexa- 
gon, or  an  octagon.  The  cavalry  alone  wore  a  circular  shield,  but  of 
small  dimensions,  called  parma.  Each  different  legion  had  its  peculiar 
device  marked  on  its  shields. 

"As  offensive  weapons,  the  Romans  had  a  sword,  of  somewhat  greater 
length  than  that  of  the  Greeks;  *  a  long  spear,  of  which  they  never  quit- 
ted their  hold;  and  a  short  javelin,  which  they  used  to  throw  to  a  dis- 
tance. Their  armies  were  moreover  provided  with  archers  and  with 
slingers. 

"  Infinite  were  the  variety  and  magnificence  of  their  military  insignia. 
These  offered— fixed  one  over  the  other  along  the  poles  of  spears — eagles, 
figures  of  victory,  laurel  wreaths,  banners,  tablets  inscribed  with  the 
initials  of  the  republic  and  the  number  of  the  legion,  pateras  for  liba- 
tions, consecrated  fillets,  and  other  civil,  military,  and  religious  em- 
blems. 

"  The  poops  of  the  Roman  galleys  had  for  ornament  the  aplustrum; 
their  prows,  spurs  shaped  like  swords,  with  which  they  hit  and  destroyed 
those  of  the  enemy. 

"  The  architecture  of  the  Romans  was  only  that  of  the  Greeks  when  on 
its  decline,— that  of  the  Greeks,  divested  of  its  primitive  consistency,  and 
breadth,  and  chastity.  From  the  circumstance,  however,  of  all  the  wealth 
and  population  of  every  other  country  flowing  by  degrees  to  Rome,  cer- 
tain descriptions  of  buildings,  such  as  circuses,  amphitheatres,  triumphal 
arches,  aqueducts,  and  baths,  seem  to  have  become  not  only  more 
numerous  but  more  splendid  in  that  capital  of  the  world  than  any  that 
could  be  erected  in  the  small  republics  of  Greece.  The  temples  also  at 
Rome,  from  the  greater  variety  of  worships,  assumed  a  greater  diversity 
of  shapes. 

"  The  altars  of  the  Romans,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Greeks,  displayed  a 
vast  variety  both  of  purposes  and  forms.  Some  were  intended  for  burn- 
ing incense  only ;  others  for  receiving  libations  of  milk  or  of  wine ;  others 
for  consuming  the  first-fruits  of  the  earth ;  others  for  the  sacrificing  of 
victims.  Many  were  only  meant  for  show,  and  erected  in  commemora- 
tion of  some  signal  event,  or  in  gratitude  for  some  important  benefit. 
Of  these  altars  some  were  round,  some  triangular,  some  square.  They 
displayed,  by  way  of  ornament,  sculptured  skulls  of  such  animals  and 
wreaths  of  such  fruits  and  flowers  as  were  consecrated  to  the  deity 
which  they  served  to  worship,  mixed  with  sacred  fillets,  instruments  of 
sacrifice,  inscriptions,  bas  reliefs,  etc. 

*  The  Roman  weapons  were  of  steel. 


84  APPENDIX. 

"Among  the  sacred  instruments  observable  in  the  processions  and 
sacrifices  of  the  Romans  may  be  numbered  the  pastoral  staff  which  Rom- 
ulus made  use  of  to  mark  out  the  different  districts  of  his  new  city,  and 
which  afterwards,  under  the  name  of  lituus,  became  the  distinctive  badge 
of  honour  of  the  augurs,  who  used  it  in  the  same  way  to  mark  out  the 
different  regions  of  the  heavens,  when  drawing  their  prognostics.  This 
lituus,  together  with  the  basin  containing  the  lustral  water,  the  aspergil- 
lum  to  sprinkle  it,  the  simpulum  or  ewer  for  holding  the  consecrated 
wine,  the  cotton  fillets  for  adorning  the  horns  of  the  victim,  the  axe  for 
slaying,  and  the  single  and  double  knives  for  cutting  it  up,  are  frequently 
represented  in  bas  reliefs. 

"  In  the  decoration  and  furniture  of  their  houses  the  Romans  were  very 
sumptuous.  Rich  marbles  and  gay  arabescoes  decorated  the  walls, 
elegant  mosaic  the  floors  of  their  apartments.  On  the  ornaments  of  the 
triclinia  or  couches,  on  which  they  reclined  at  their  feasts,  they  bestowed 
immense  sums.  The  curule  chairs  or  seats  of  state  of  the  patricians 
were  wrought  in  ivory;  and  prodigious  is  the  number  of  beautiful  uten- 
sils in  marble  and  in  bronze,  richly  chased  and  inlaid  with  silver,  that 
have  been  found  among  the  ruins  of  that  comparatively  insignificant  pro- 
vincial city,  Pompeii.  Natives  of  Greece  seem  at  all  times  to  have  been 
employed  to  give  and  to  execute  the  designs  intended  to  display  the 
taste  and  opulence  of  the  Romans. 

"  The  writing  of  these  latter  were  contained  in  two  different  sorts  of 
receptacles;  namely,  in  rolls  of  papyrus  or  parchment,  called  volumina; 
and  on  tablets  of  box,  ivory,  or  metal,  called  codices.  When  travelling 
they  used  to  carry  their  manuscripts  in  a  little  round  case,  called 
scrinium." 


RUY  BLAS 


VOL.    Ill 


preface. 


* 


*T^HIS  drama,  though  not,  perhaps,  impressive  in  the 
■*■  reading,  has  been  found  effective  i?i  the  represetitation. 
The  present  version  of  it  is  a  free  translation, —  by  an 
unknown  hand, — considerably  altered  from  the  original,  and 
furnished  with  Edwin  Booth's  stage  directions.  The  French 
piece,  by  Victor  Hugo,  is  in  five  acts,  and  it  incorporates  into 
the  action  the  character  of  Don  Cozsar  de  Bazan,  the  cousin, 
and  the  victim,  of  Don  Salluste.  By  excising  that  part,  by 
giving  some  slight  prominence  to  the  part  of  Gudiel,  and  by  a 
few  transpositions  and  textual  changes,  the  piece  is  made  to 
tell  its  story  in  three  acts,  as  fully  as  it  would  otherwise  do  in 
five.  The  original  is  i?i  verse.  An  English  translation  of 
it,  also  in  verse, —  but  in  four  acts, — was  produced  at  the 
Princess's  Theatre,  London,  on  October  27th,  i860,  under 
the  auspices  of  Charles  Fechter,  who  personated  Ruy  Bias  ; 
and  this,  in  an  adapted  form,  has  been  made  known  on  the 
American  stage.  The  period  of  Ruy  Bias  is  the  end  of  the 
ijth  century  — 1602.  The  monarch  referred  to  in  its  text — 
Charles  II.,  of  Spain  —  reigned  over  that  country  from  1661 
to  1700,  and  was  involved  in  several  wars  with  Louis  XIV., 
of  France,  whose  policy  and  force  alike  aimed  at  securing  the 
succession  of  the  Spanish  crown  to  the  House  of  Bourbon. 


The  ideal  of  love  which  the  author  has  herein  exhibited  is 
idolatrous  —  a  passion  like  that  of  Wyatt  for  Anne  Bullen, 
or  that  of  Chastelard  for  Mary  Stuart ;  a  passion  suggestive 
of  Sir  Gallahad,  in  its  lofty  purity,  and  of  the  lover  of 
Byron's  Dream,  in  its  ecstatic  abandonment. 

"  There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him." 

Ruy  Bias  was  first  produced  on  November  8th,  1838, 
in  Paris,  at  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance.  Frederick 
Lemaitre  acted  its  hero.  The  reaction  against  the  classic 
drama  in  France,  which  Victor  Hugo's  genius  had  induced, 
and  which  the  great  triumph  of  his  Hemani  had 
signalized,  ivas  potent  hi  that  period;  a?id  Ruy  Bias, 
accordingly, — notwithstanding  its  obvious  faults  of  artifice, 
exaggeration,  and  tumidity, —  was  received  with  enthusiasm. 
The  original  representative  of  the  Queen  was  Mme.  Louise 
Beaudoin,  an  actress  not  othenvise  known  to  fame.  The 
original  Don  Cozsar  de  Bazan — a  part  which,  in  the  French 
play,  is  important,  but  has  here  been  discarded — ivas 
M.  St.  Firmin ;  who  divided  zvith  M.  Lemaitre  the  success 
of  the  Parisian  representation.  No  Frefich  actor  of  any  note, 
since  Lemaitre,  is  remonbered  in  association  with  Ruy  Bias. 
Fechter's  fame  in  the  part  was  7von  in  English.  All 
Victor  Hugo's  plays  were,  as  is  well  known,  banished  from 
the  French  stage,  during  the  second  empire — from  1852  to 
1 87 1.  Since  the  latter  year,  Ruy  Bias  has  been  acted  in 
Paris,  at  the  Odeon,  with  M.  Lafontaine  as  Ruy,  and  M 
Melingue  as  Don  Cozsar. 

W.   W. 

New- York,  October  30th,  1878. 


"  There  is  a  garden  in  her  face. 

Where  roses  and  white  lilies  blow." — Old  Song. 


'A  youth  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown."— Gray. 


1 '  /  thought  of  tales  that  by  the  winter  hearth 
Old  gossips  tell — how  maidens  sprung  from  kings 
Have  stooped  from  their  high  sphere:  how  love,  like  death, 
Levels  all  ranks,  and  lays  the  shepherd's  crook 
Beside  the  sceptre." — Bulwer. 


"/  will  be 
The  sun  o'  thy  life,  faithful  through  every  season ; 
Attd  thou  shalt  be  my  flower  perennial. 
My  bud  of  beauty,  my  imperial  rose. 
My  passion-flower ;  and  I  will  wear  thee  here, 
Here  on  my  heart,  and  thou  shalt  never  fade ! 
I'll  love  thee  mightily,  my  queen." — Barry  Cornwall, 


' '  If  tlwu  didst  ever  anything  believe, 
Believe  how  I  love  thee,  believe  how  near 
My  soul  is  to  its  doom." — Keats. 


"She  loves,  and  she  confesses  too; 
There's  then  at  last  no  more  to  do." — Cowley. 


"  What  can  it  tnatter,  Margaret, 

What  songs  below  the  waning  stars 
The  lion-heart  Platitagenet 

Sang,  looking  through  his  prison-bars  f 
Exquisite  Margaret,  who  can  tell 

The  last  wild  thought  of  Chatelet, 

yust  ere  the  falling  axe  did  part 

The  burning  brain  from  the  true  heart. 
Even  it!  her  sight  he  loved  so  well?" — Tennyson. 


"  The  potent  poison  quite  o'er-crows  my  spirit. 
The  rest  is  silence."— SHAKESPEARE. 


* 


$cr£on£  Hqpre^entefc* 


* 


Grandees  of  Spain. 


Don  Salluste,  Marquis  of  Finlas,  Prime  Minister. 

Don  Basto. 

Don  Pedro. 

Don  Manuel. 

Don  Priego. 

Count  of  Alba. 

Count  of  Camporeal. 

Gudiel,  Secretary  to  Don  Salluste. 

Ruy  Blas. 

Marianne  of  Neuborg,  called  Queen  of  Spain. 

Donna  Casilda,  Maid  of  Hotiour  to  the  Queen. 

Duchess  of  Albuquerque,  Duenna  to  the  Queen. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Pages,  and  other  Attendants. 


$Iace  an&  €imt. 


SCENE. — Madrid,  in  Spain. 

Period. — The  Seventeenth  Century  [1692]. 

Time  of  Action. — There  is  a  lapse  of  six  months  behveen 
the  First  and  Second  Acts,  and  of  one  day  between  the 
Second  and  Third.  The  action  is  supposed  to  occupy  but 
a  few  hours. 


H>cene. 


RUY     BLAS. 


%ct  tfir£t- 

Madrid.  A  Hall  in  the  Royal  Palace 
Doors  r.  and  l.  u.  e.  Arch  with  cur- 
tains, c.  Large  Chair,  r.  Table,  with 
Writing  Materials,  l. 


[Enter  Don  Salluste  and  Gudiel,  L.  u.  E.      Don 
Salluste  gives   his    hat,  cloak,  and   sword   to 
Gudiel,  who,  during  Don  Salluste' s  first  speech, 
places  them  on  chair,  r. 


Sal. 

_  Close  the  door,  Gudiel.  The  day  has  come,  but  my 
night  begins;  my  reign  is  over.  The  lazy  household 
sleeps  —  although  the  sun  is  up,  and  wakes  the  day  to 
witness  my  disgrace. 

Gud. 
Disgrace !  my  lord  ! 

Sal. 

Yes,  Gudiel ;  my  reign  is  ended. 

Gud. 
My  lord ! 


g  RUY    BLAS. 

Sal. 

Yes,  ended;  degraded,  exiled — in  a  day!  My  tower- 
ing fortunes  lie  in  ruins  at  my  feet. 

Gud. 
May  I  ask  the  cause  ? 

Sal. 

'Sdeath  !  I'm  ashamed  to  tell  it.  But  listen — and  be 
secret.  A  love  affair — ha  !  ha  !  A  girl  of  some  slight 
beauty,  but  no  birth — a  follower  of  the  queen's,  as  she 
is  called, — though  she  's  no  queen  as  yet;  she  is  but 
betrothed,  and  wears  the  ring  without  the  rights  of  mar- 
riage. Well,  I  cast  my  eyes  upon  this  girl — this  silly 
chit  —  about  a  year  ago.  This  creature,  Gudiel,  rushes  to 
the  queen,  dragging  her  brat  into  the  royal  chamber,  and 
weeps,  and  wails,  and  howls  —  plebeian  fool !  The  queen, 
sir,  sends  for  me  and  says,  forsooth,  the  wench  being  of 
her  suite,  I  must  espouse  her!  Do  you  hear!  —  espouse! 
I  refused,  flatly  :  for  the  which  —  I  'm  banished  !  You 
hear — banished.  Twenty  years  of  labour,  night  and  day, 
my  office,  power,  presidency  of  the  high  court  of  Alcades, 
revenues,  patronage,  influence  and  trust,  all !  which  yes- 
terday seemed  within  my  grasp ;  all  that  I  possessed,  and 
all  that  felt  assured  of  winning — all  these  have  crumbled 
into  dust,  amid  the  jeers  and  laughter  of  the  court ! 

Gud. 
'T  is  not  yet  known  ! 

Sal. 

It  will  be  known  before  the  night  again  descends.  But 
let  us  go.  I  will  not  hear  the  mocking  of  the  crowd. 
With  pnde  untamed,  and  crest  erect,  I   will  not  stay  to 

fall,  but  vanish  ere- O,  I  choke  with  rage!      I  '11  be 

revenged. —  I  '11  lay  a  mine  shall  scatter  all  my  foes. 

Gud. 
Our  new  queen  hath  struck  this  blow  ? 


RUY    BLAS.  n 

Sal. 

The  queen !  She  is  not,  and  never  shall  be  queen.  By 
proxy  married  to  the  king.  He,  an  animal  that  loves  the 
chase  —  and  has  a  vulgar  liason  to  boot — has  again  post- 
poned the  actual  marriage. 

Gud. 
The  people  wonder  at  this  strange  delay. 

Sal. 

This  delay  will  serve  my  turn.  Although  to  me  hateful, 
she  'd  fain  do  right,  and  has  a  loving,  noble  nature.  She  'd 
be  a  good  wife  to  this  brutish  thing  we  honour  as  a  king — 
but  she  's  a  woman  —  neglected,  slighted, —  feels  it, — and 
will,  when  tempted,  fall:  at  least,  I  '11  set  the  snare  and 
place  it  in  her  path.  \Sits  at  table,  l. 

Who  can  be  trusted  to  remain  here,  in  your  stead  ?  I 
shall  need  you  near  me. 

Gud. 

The  orphan  son  of  an  old  and  valued  friend.  A  youth, 
discreet  and  brave  I  think ;  subdued  by  some  strange  sor- 
row ;  he  came  to  me,  in  rags,  some  three  months  since,  and, 
death  depriving  you  of  Sautalon,  I  gave  the  vacancy  to 
Ruy  Bias. 

Sal. 

'T  is  well.  I  am  satisfied.  Your  judgment,  my  trusty 
Gudiel,  never  errs.     Where  is  he  ? 

Gud. 

My  lord,  he  attends  for  what  directions  you  may  deem 
needful. 

Sal.  [Music. 

He  may  enter. 

Gud.         [  Goes  to  door  and  calls. 

Ruy  !   Ruy  Bias  !  [Enter  Ruy.     Exit  Gudiel. 


IO  RUY    BLAS. 

Ruy. 

My  lord. 

\Don  Salluste,  at  table,  carelessly  looks  up  —  then 
starts.     Music  ceases. 

Sal.  [Aside. 

Great  heaven !  What  fatality  is  this  ?  The  very  self 
of  my  spendthrift  cousin,  Caesar !  Can  he  be  moulded 
to  my  will,  and  made  the  instrument  ?  Young,  inex- 
perienced, doubtless  romantic  ;  time  wanes ;  I  must  be 
quick,  though  cautious.  \Aloud 

Ruy  Bias ! 

Ruy. 

My  lord ! 

Sal. 
Were  you  ever  until  now  in  service  ? 

Ruy. 

Never,  my  lord,  before  I  entered  yours. 

Sal. 

You  will  find  me  a  good  master,  if  you  serve  me  well. 
I  have  but  one  lesson  to  give  you.  While  with  me,  you 
must  have  neither  ears,  eyes,  nor  thought,  except  at  my 
will ;  you  must  have  but  one  quality  —  obedience. 

Ruy. 
I  '11  do  my  best,  my  lord. 

Sal. 
Has  any  one  in  Madrid  yet  seen  you  in  that  garb  ? 

Ruy. 

Save  Gudiel.  none,  my  lord. 


RUY    BLAS.  T  i 

Sal. 

'T  is  well.  During  my  absence  you  will  hold  his  position 
here  ;  if  I  find  you  competent  and  faithful,  above  all  dis- 
creet, you  shall  retain  it.     Call  him  hither.  [Music. 

Ruy. 

Gudiel!  [Enter  Gudiel  l.  u.  e. 

[From    Ruvs     entrance-     until    this    point    Don 

Salluste  remains  seated,  closely  examining  Ruy, 

but   with    apparent   indifference  —  looking   over 

papers,  etc. 

Sal.  [To  Gudiel. 

He  may  retire.  [Music  ceases. 

[Exit  Ruy,  at  sign  from  Gudiel,  l.  u.  e. 

Gudiel,  1  like  that  youth.  You  know  him  well ;  is  he 
ambitious  ? 

Gud. 

My  lord,  I  have  not  questioned  him,  nor  sought  his 
confidence;  from  his  boyhood,  until  three  months  since 
we  have  been  strangers.     Can  he  be  of  use  to  you  ? 

Sal. 

Great  use;  if  he  is  ambitious,  brave,  and  wise. —  Hold 
conference  with  him  here  ;  I  will  withdraw,  and  judge  by 
what  I  hear  how  capable  he  may  be  to  aid  me  in  the  work 
I  have  in  hand;  on  which,  perhaps,  the  fate  of  Spain 
depends.  So  probe  him  well ;  find  the  main-spring  of  his 
heart's  desire ;  and  if  I  find  him  what  his  appearance  indi- 
cates, honour  and  fortune  shall  be  his. 

Gud. 
My  lord,  you  shall  be  satisfied. 

[Don  Salluste  retires.     Gudiel  goes  to  door  l.  u.  e., 
and  calls ; 

Ruy  !     Come  hither.  [Enter  Ruy  l.  u.  e. 

Young  friend,  ere  I  depart  for  Finlas  with  our  master, 

perhaps  to  be  absent  months,  I  'd  fain  learn  something 

2 


12  RUY    BLAS. 

of  you  —  your  hopes  and  griefs — for  tho'  but  yet  a  boy, 
the  sadness  of  your  countenance  tells  of  a  canker  at  the 
heart,  to  which  youth  should  be  a  stranger. 

[Don  Salluste  watches  this  scene  from  behind 
curtains,  showing  himself  but  twice :  once,  ai 
"  Couldst  thou  see  within," — then,  at  "I —  I 
madly  love  the  queen." 

Ruy. 

O,  Gudiel !  I  have  longed  to  speak,  to  open  my  heart 
to  some  true,  sympathizing  friend,  who  would  not  sneer  at 
my  despair ;  for  despair  it  was  that  drove  me  to  your  door, 
a  beggar  for  a  menial  post,  at  which  my  heart  revolts,  that 
I  might  be  near  the  delicious  poisoned  fount  from  which 
my  soul  drinks  madness. 

Gud. 

What  is  it  ails  thee,  boy  ? 

Ruy. 

Dare  I  speak  ?  Yes.  For  in  your  eyes  I  see  com- 
passion—  pity  ;  't  is  all  that  I  can  hope  for,  and  in  your 
heart  I  feel  it  is  not  coupled  with  contempt.  Beneath  this 
sullying  and  dishonouring  garb  my  soul  chafes  madly  for 
relief;  and,  pride  and  manhood  crushed,  like  a  peevish 
child,  I  must  give  vent  in  words  to  this  pent-up  agony,  or 
else  my  heart  will  break.  An  orphan,  reared  by  charity, 
taught  science  and  the  pride  that  springs  from  knowledge, 
instead  of  a  mechanic  I  am  a  dreamer.  Filled  with 
ambitious  pride,  I  toiled  and  toiled  —  to  what  end?  I 
dreamed  I  marched  to  honours !  I  had  hope  in  fate,  and 
thought  the  future  would  repay  the  past.  I  built  myself 
an  edifice  of  thoughts,  ideas,  chimeras,  madness !  I  pitied 
Spain,  and  fancied  I  was  born  to  rescue  her.  Poor  fool ! 
I  thought  the  world  had  need  of  me  ;  lo !  the  result  you 
see — I  am  a  lacquey. 

Gud. 

Poor  youth !  Hunger  is  indeed  a  tyrant ;  and  when  by 
necessity  we  are  compelled  to  bow  before  him  the  grand- 


RUY    BLAS. 


J3 


est  imagination  stoops  the  lowest  and  suffers  most.  But 
fortune  hath  its  ebb  and  flow  ;  our  master  likes  you,  is  dis- 
posed to  favour  you  ;  deserve  his  confidence  ;  he  will 
advance  you,  perhaps,  to  the  very  point  at  which  your 
wildest  fancy  aims.     Hope  yet. 

Ruy. 

No,  no  ;  it  is  impossible  !  Within  my  breast  a  serpent, 
with  breath  of  flame,  winds  round  and  round  my  heart 
its  coils  of  burning  venom.     Ah,  couldst  thou  see  within ! 

[Don  Salluste  appears  at  back,  for  an  instant. 

Gnd. 
I  cannot  understand. 

Ruy. 

Suppose,  invent,  imagine,  dream!  Rack  thy  brains 
and  search  for  something  wild,  incalculable,  mad ;  a  daz- 
zling fatality ;  a  passion  that,  like  delicious  poison,  draws 
my  soul  towards  an  abyss  where  crime  and  ruin  wait ; 
thou  canst  not  guess, —  who  could  ?  Gudiel,  into  the 
gulf  towards  which  my  dread  fate  drags  me,  plunge  thine 
eyes.     I  madly  love  the  queen  ! 

\JDon  Salluste  appears  for  an  instant,  at  back. 


Gud. 

Sal.     [Aside,  and  withdrawing. 

Gud. 

Ruy. 

Yes !  Despise  me  if  you  will,  I  love  her  with  heart  of 
flame,  with  veins  of  fire !  So  helpless,  beautiful,  and  young  ! 
So  wretched  'mid  the  vile  intrigues  of  this  polluted  court! 
O,  I  would  give  the  jewel  of  my  mind  to  be  but  one  of 


Great  heaven ! 
He  's  mine ! 
The  queen! 


14  RUY    BLAS. 

those  young  cavaliers  who  are  permitted  to  approach  the 
queen,  with  plumes  upon  their  bonnets  and  pride  upon 
their  brows  —  those  living  libels  on  humanity  !  But  to  be 
thus  before  her  in  livery  —  a  —  lacquey!  Ah,  pity  me, 
my  friend !     Pity  me,  O  heaven ! 

Gud. 

I  do,  my  son  ;  but  tell  me,  how  grew  this  fatal  passion, 
and  since  when  ? 

Ruy. 

I  do  not  know.  The  madman  cannot  date  the  birth  of 
his  insanity.  I  think  of  her  as  prisoners  think  of  liberty  ; 
as  the  blind  dream  of  the  light.  I  love  her,  that  's  all  I 
know  —  I  love  her. 

Gud. 

Stifle  this  hopeless  passion. 

Ruy. 

'T  will  die  the  day  she  weds  the  king.  Like  one  con- 
demned to  death  on  a  fixed  day,  who,  yet,  with  pulse  of 
health  full  within  his  heart,  enjoys  the  sense  of  life,  so  my 
love  is  doomed,  must  perish  or  destroy  me,  when  she  weds; 
but  till  then  it  is  privileged  to  live,  to  enjoy  ecstatic  dreams. 

Gud. 
Has  she  e'er  seen  thee  ? 

Ruy. 

No!  Pardon  me — you  asked  me,  did  you  not,  how 
and  when  this  passion  first  had  being  ?  A  month  before 
I  learned  that  thou  wert  here — when  all  seemed  hopeless, 
and  life  had  grown  a  torture  more  than  I  could  bear — I 
resolved  on  self-destruction.  Hastening  through  the  forest 
with  this  intent  I  passed  the  convent  of  Rosara,  as  she 
came  forth  from  her  devotions.  My  soul  seemed  hell ! 
when  suddenly  her  beauteous  face,  like  some  sad  angel's, 


RUY    BI.AS. 


15 


lighted  all  within,  rekindled  hope,  and  bade  me  live  for 
her — her  slave!  Unknown, —  unseen, —  yet  still  to  live, 
if  but  to  breathe  the  air  she  breathes.  To  do  her  service, 
haply,  and  be  repaid  by  death  in  doing  it.  You  see,  my 
friend,  I'm  mad — yes,  mad! 

Gud. 
Since  you  came  hither  ? 

Ruy. 

I  've  been  debarred  the  joy  of  seeing  her.  The  only 
recompense  I  hoped  for  now  seems  further  from  my  reach 
than  ever.  My  only  solace  is  to  seek  in  the  woods  a 
rare  blue  flower  'tis  said  she  loves  ;  a  flower  of  Germany — 
her  native  land.  I  go  each  day  to  gather  them,  and  when 
midnight  falls  I,  like  a  thief,  climb  o'er  her  garden  wall 
and  place  them  near  a  bank,  on  which  —  I  learned  from 
one  of  her  young  pages  —  she  oft  reclines  to  read.  Last 
night  I  placed  a  letter  'mid  the  flowers — but  why  should 
I  recite  these  follies  ?  I  know  some  night  I  may  be 
speared  or  shot  by  the  palace  guards ;  but  what  care  I  ?  I 
shall  die  near  her — the  sweetest,  holiest  death  for  Ruy 
Bias !  But  go,  my  friend,  and  leave  the  miserable  wretch 
who  dares  to  hide  beneath  a  lacquey's  garb  the  passions 
of  a  king. 

[Ruy   falls   in    chair,  L.     A    noise   is   heard   at 
back. 

Gud. 

Hark!     Don  Salluste  comes  —  recover  yourself. 

[Dan  Salluste  enters  hurriedly,   not  noting   Ruy 
Bias,  who  rises  quickly  and  stands  L. 

Gud. 
My  lord. 

Sal. 

Gudiel,  a  word  with  you.  [  Whispers. 

Set  forth  at  once  —  depart.  [Exit  Gudiel. 

The  very  man  I  wan;.  [Aside. 


jg  ruy  blas. 

Ha!  ha!  [Aloud. 

How  lightly  beats  my  heart  to-day !  Ruy  Bias,  I  need 
your  aid  immediately;  you  shall  be  my  secretary — doff 
that  livery  —  off  with  it  at  once,  and  take  your  station  at 
the  table. 

[Ruy  Bias  takes  seat  at  table  and  writes  as  directed. 

Ruy,  I  am  in  love  with  a  little  angel,  fresh  from 
Paradise.  Think  you  I  am  too  stern  and  grim  in  look 
to  have  a  tender  heart  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  Love  !  the  rascal, 
hath  hit  even  me — Salluste.  I  am  about  to  dictate  a 
billet-doux.  I  have  full  faith  in  you  and  your  discretion 
• —  write  !  [Music,  low  and  sad. 

"  My  queen  !  My  heart's  queen  !  A  doom  of  danger 
hangs  o'er  my  head — thou  canst  avert  the  blow,  and  only 
thou.  Come  to  me  instantly  —  without  thee  I  am  lost. 
My  safety  —  fate — my  life  is  in  thy  hands.  O,  come  to 
me,  all  powerful;  I  kiss  thy  hands  and  wait  thee." 

To  touch  the  heart  of  woman  it  is  best  to  swear  there 
is  danger  hovering  o'er  you. 

"A  private  door  that  leads  from  the  garden  is  open  — 
't  will  admit  thee  unobserved."  [Music  ceases. 

Hast  done  ? 

Ruy. 
Your  signature  ? 

Sal. 

No  —  sign  it  "  Caesar !  "     'T  is  the  name  she  calls  me. 

Ruy. 
Will  not  the  hand  betray  it  ? 

Sal. 
I  '11  put  my  seal  on 't. 

Ruy. 
Shall  I  address  the  letter  ? 


RUY    BLAS.  !  -j 

Sal. 

No.     I  '11  do  that.     So  give  it  me!  \ Takes  letter. 

Ruy,  I  find  you  trustworthy,  discreet,  and  faithful ;  I 
would  mark  my  recognition  of  it.  I  'd  help  to  lift  you 
to  a  better  fate  —  one  worthier  of  you.  Trust  me,  you 
shall  rise !     Now,  write  again.  [Same  music. 

"  I,  Ruy  Bias,  servant  to  the  Marquis  of  Finlas,  here 
engage,  on  all  occasions,  public  or  private,  to  render  to 
my  master  and  my  lord  the  humble  service  of  a  faithful 
lacquey  !  "  [Music  ceases. 

So,  sign  it, — now  the  date  —  good!  —  give  it  me. 

[  Takes  letter. 

Tis  near  the  hour  when  the  queen  should  pass  yon  gal- 
lery, on  her  way  to  the  royal  chapel.  You  shall  see  her 
gracious  majesty,  Ruy  Bias  :  but  first,  hand  me  my  sword. 

[Ruy  gets  sword  frotn  chair,  r. 

T  is  handsome,  is  it  not  ?  The  hilt  's  of  gold,  and  set 
with  precious  stones.  Put  it  on  —  nay,  put  it  on;  I'd  see 
the  effect :  why,  I  vow !  you  have  the  air  of  a  true  cava- 
lier—  a  lord  of  noble  birth  and  breeding.  You,  perhaps, 
may  wear  a  sword  some  day.  [  Voices  heard. 

They  come. 

[  Two  pages  draw  back  the  curtain  from  arch.  Don 
Pedro,  Don  Basto,  Don  Manuel,  Don  Priego, 
and  Courtiers  are  discovered,  in  conversation,  in 
the  chamber.  As  they  come  forward,  Don  Sal- 
luste  quickly  takes  his  cloak  from  chair  and 
envelopes  Ruy  before  the  lords  observe  him. 

Gentlemen,  permit  me  to  present  to  your  kindly  notice, 
my  young  cousin,  Caesar  de  Bazan. 


Don  Caesar! 

All. 

Great  Heaven ! 

Ruy. 

Silence  ! 

Sal. 

[Aside,  to  Ruy 

i8 


RUY    BLAS. 


We  thought  you  dead 


'Twas  so  reported ! 


Pas. 


Prie. 


Man. 


We  are  much  honoured  ! 


All  speak  simul- 
taneously, bowing 
as  they  speak. 


Sir,  most  welcome 
My  Lord ! 


Ped. 

Ruy. 
Sal. 


[To  Sal. 


Call  me  cousin,  Caesar !  We  are  cousins,  you  know ; 
the  Bazans  are  sufficiently  frank  about  their  origin  and 
relatives.  You  are  of  Arragon — I  of  Portugal;  your 
branch  is  not  less  high  than  mine;  I  am  the  fruit  of  one, 
you  the  flower  of  the  other. 

[Enter  Alba. 
Alba. 

Ahem!  What  's  this — what  's  this!  of  fruits  and 
flowers — what — what?  I  beg  to  inform  you,  Don  Sal- 
luste,  that  I,  as  Marquis  de  Santa  Cruz,  am  the  recognized 
representative  of  our  house,  the  head,  the  stem,  the  fruit, 
the  flower — yea,  the  very  tree,  root,  branch  and  sap  of 
the  stock  Bazan.  I  can  allow  no  error  to  creep  abroad ; 
I  — I 

Sal. 

My  dear  Marquis,  no  one  dare  dispute  your  rights;  I 
was  but  presenting  to  these  gentlemen  our  cousin,  Caesar, 
who  has  suddenly  returned. 


Alba. 
What,  from  the  other  world  ! 


[All  laugh. 


RUY    BLAS.  ig 

Sal. 
No,  from  the  Indies. 

Alba. 

.Let  me  see.  Yes,  yes,  indeed  ;  I  recognize  him.  How 
lixe  his  mother !     Your  hand,  my  cousin. 

Sal. 
You  recognize  him  ? 

Alba. 

I  should  think  so !     I  was  one  of  the  witnesses  to  his 

birth.  {All  laugh. 

I  should  not  have  known  him.  [Aside. 

Sal. 
Ten  years  abroad 

Ruy. 
My  lord ! 

Sal.  \  A  side  to  Ruy. 

When  your  fortune  rises  does  your  spirit  sink  ?  Be  blind, 
be  dumb,  be  wise !     Trust  all  to  me. 

[Aloud. 

Yes,  here  is  the  spendthrift.  His  rich  inheritance — you 
remember  it,  Marquis — scattered  to  the  winds.  In  three 
years,  ruined ;  but  he  had  the  heart  of  a  lion,  and  set  to 
work  to  retrieve  his  fortunes,  and  lo !  here  he  is,  fresh 
from  India,  with  a  galleon  filled  with  treasure ! 

[All  bow  and  exclaim  at  once. 

All. 
Sir! 

Alba. 

I  had  a  great  regard  for  your  mother,  sir ! 

[Shaking  hands  with  Ruy. 
Gods!     How  like  his  mother! 

3 


RUY    BLAS. 
20 

Sal. 

As  I  am  now  in  disgrace  and  shall  be  absent  from 
Madrid,  may  I  ask  your  interest,  gentlemen,  in  his  behalf? 

All. 

Assuredly — My  voice  is  his — Decidedly. 

[March  pp. — After  their  assurances  to  Ruy,  all 
the  lords  put  on  their  hats  and  turn  towards  back 
of  scene. 

Ruy.  [  To  Don  Salluste. 

To  what  will  this  lead  ? 

Sal. 

Ruy,  be  fearless ;  walk  blindfold  on ;  my  eyes  shall  see 
for  thee,  my  hand  direct.  Be  brave  !  Ascend  the  hill  at 
whose  high  top  thy  fortune  smiles,  and  woos  thee  to 
embrace  her. 

[Music,  louder. 
Voice.  [  Outside. 


The  queen ! 
My  lord ! 


Ruy. 


Sal. 


[Forcing  his  hat  into  Ruy's  hand. 

Put  it  on ;  put  it  on.     Use  your  right. 

[Ruy  mechanically  puts  on  hat. 
A  grandee  of  Spain  stands  covered  in  the  presence  of  the 
queen. 

All. 
The  queen ! 

[The  Queen  enters,  above,  preceded  and  followed 
by  Lords  and  Ladies.     Picture. 

CURTAIN. 


^ceiic  Jurat.  < 


3£ct  ^cconfc. 

f  Madrid.  Another  Hall  in  the  Royal 
Palace.  Large  Bow-window  r.  c.  :  sev- 
eral Ladies  seated  near  it.  Queen 
discovered  at  table  r.  duchess 
of  Albuquerque  in  large  Chair,  l., 
reading.  casilda  sitting  at  feet 
of  the  Queen. 

Queen.  [In  soliloquy. 

I  cannot  chase  the  image  from  my  thoughts.  I  dream 
of  him  by  night ;  I  think  of  him  by  clay.  I  see  him,  grave 
and  joyless,  as  he  bent  o'er  my  hand,  and  took  his  leave. 
Don  Salluste  hates  me.  Yes,  his  proud  eye  tells  it ;  and 
I  fear  him.  His  smile  of  state  but  cloaks  revenge, —  a 
poisoned  dagger  sheathed  in  courtesy.  [She  rises. 

Duch. 
Ladies !  [Rising. 

Ladies,  the  queen  has  risen. 

[  They  all  rise,  languidly,  and  sit  when  the  Queen 
motions  to  them  to  do  so. 

Queen.  [Still  in  soliloquy. 

He  is  gone,  and  I  should  be  at  ease.  Still,  I  have  a 
presentiment  of  ill.  He  is  my  evil  genius !  I  fancy  the 
demon  lurks  around  the  little  paradise  of  my  lone  musings. 
The  flowers,  the  letter,  the  symbols  of  some  unknown 
heart's  devotion — ah,  should  his  malice  pierce  that  mys- 
tery, the  solace  of  my  wretched  life  were  lost,  destroyed, 
defiled ! 

[To  Casilda. 

Casilda,  do  my  poor  pensioners  attend  ? 

21 


2  2  RUY    BLAS. 

Cas. 
Madam,  they  do,  beneath  the  balcony. 

Duch. 

[Each  time  the  Duchess  speaks,  she  rises,  and  at 
conclusion  of  her  remarks  sits,  very  stiff  and 
stately. 

Pardon,  your  majesty.  The  etiquette  of  this  great 
court  of  Spain  does  not  permit  the  queen  to  show  herself 
unto  the  people,  save  on  state  occasions. 

Queen. 

Very  well!  Throw  them  my  purse,  Casilda.  Let  us 
play  some  game  to  pass  away  the  tedious  time. 

Duch. 

Pardon,  your  majesty.  Etiquette  forbids !  The  queen 
may  not  amuse  herself,  excepting  with  her  equals,  kings  or 
queens,  or  princes  and  princesses  of  the  blood  royal  of  the 
kingdom. 

Queen.  [Irritated. 

But  none  are  here ! 

Duch. 

His  majesty,  alas  !  has  no  relations.  [Curtseys. 

Queen. 

Casilda,  Isabella,  let  us  walk. 

Duch. 

Pardon,  your  majesty !  Etiquette  of  this  great  court  of 
Spain  exacts  that  when  the  queen  doth  condescend  to  walk 
each  door  is  opened  by  a  grandee,  who  holds  the  key. 
Not  one  grandee  is  in  the  palace  now;  therefore,  your 
majesty  must  please  remain. 


RUY    BLAS.  23 

Queen. 
Am  I  a  prisoner  ? 

Duch. 

Pardon ;  as  mistress  of  the  royal  household,  as  duenna 
to  the  queen  of  Spain,  until  the  festal  day  that  dawns  upon 
the  marriage  I  fulfill  my  duty. 

Queen. 
Casilda,  you  pity  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Cas. 
Your  majesty 

Queen. 

No  matter.  Bring  fruit  and  wine.  Ladies,  I  invite 
you. 

Duch. 

Pardon,  your  majesty !  Etiquette  compels  the  queen  of 
Spain,  unless  the  king  is  by,  to  eat  alone. 

Queen. 

The  king  !  The  king  neglects  me,  even  before  we  're 
wed.  I  never  see  him  !  He  's  always  at  the  chase.  For 
the  six  months  I  've  been  in  Spain,  I  've  not  seen  him  six 
times. 

Cas.  [Aside. 

Poor  lady !  In  this  dreary  court,  condemned  to  pass 
her  days  so  drearily  ;  hemmed  in  by  etiquette  and  stupid 
forms ! 

Madam  !  [  To  Queen,  tvho  is  in  a  reverie. 

Queen. 
Casilda  ! 

Cas. 
You  seem  sad. 


2  4  RUY    BLAS. 

Queen. 
Sad  !     E'en  captives  are  allowed  that  liberty. 

Cas.  [  Whispering. 

The  secret  door  I  told  you  of  frees  you  to  pass  at 
pleasure. 

Queen. 

True ;  I  'd  forgotten.  I  was  thinking  then  of  my  dear 
home  in  Germany  —  my  sister ;  and  how  we  played  to- 
gether 'neath  the  trees  ;  and  laughed  and  sang  ;  until  one 
sad,  sad  day,  a  man  in  black  came  up  to  me,  and  said : 
"  You  are  betrothed  to  the  king  of  Spain  !  "  My  father 
triumphed  and  my  mother  wept.  I  think,  in  private,  both 
were  sorry  for  it.  I  came  here,  to  learn  the  duties  of  a 
queen,  ere  I  become  the  wife  unto  a  king.  'T  is  a  dull 
place,  your  court :  the  little  birds  I  brought  from  home 
all  died  since  they  've  been  here.  I  am  a  prisoner;  bound 
down  by  forms;  for  me  the  sun  smiles  not  upon  the 
flowers ;  for  me  the  clouds  find  not  a  mirror  in  the  stream. 
Nature  is  lost  to  me  ! 

Cas. 

Madam,  look  from  this  casement.  'T  is  a  lovely  view  ; 
the  woods,  the  river — see. 

[  Queen  is  going  towards  casement. 

Bitch. 

Pardon,  your  majesty  !  Etiquette  permits  not  the  queen 
of  Spain  to  look  out  of  a  casement,  opened  or  shut. 

Queen. 

Am  I  forbidden,  then,  to  gaze  upon  the  liberty  of  others  ? 

[Aside. 

No  pastime  but  the  dangerous  one  of  weaving  a  romance 
about  the  unknown  being  whose  voiceless  worship  is 
symbolized  by  my  best  loved  flowers !  Ah,  heaven  shield 
me  from  that  temptation  ! 

\  Enter  two  pages,  l.  2.  E.,  ushering  in  Alba. 


RUV    BLAS. 


Page. 


25 


Count  Alba.     From  the  king. 

[Exeunt  pages.     Alba  produces  letter. 

Queen. 

Heaven  has  heard  my  prayer !  A  letter  of  affectionate 
remembrance,  to  recall  me  to  my  sense  of  duty  —  grati- 
tude.    Give  it  me  quickly.         [Duchess  quickly  interposes. 

Duch. 
Whence  comes  the  letter? 

Alba. 
From  Aranguez,  madam,  where  the  king  is  hunting. 

Queen. 

I  thank  his  grace.  He  has  had  compassion  on  my 
ennui,  and  doubtless  sends  me  a  letter  full  of  pleasant 
tidings.     Give  it  me. 

Duch.  [Takes  letter. 

Pardon,  your  majesty !  The  etiquette  of  this  great 
court  of  Spain  demands  that  I,  as  mistress  of  the  royal 
household,  in  absence  of  the  king,  should  first  open  and 
read  all  letters  addressed  to  the  queen  of  Spain. 

[Alba  goes  up  to  ladies  at  window. 

Queen. 
Again  —  Ah,  well !  read  it. 

Duch. 

[Slowly,  after  putting  on  spectacles. 

"  Madam.  There  's  a  high  wind.  I  have  killed  six 
wolves. 

(Signed)  "  Carlos." 


6 

RUY    BLAS, 

Is  that  all  ? 

Queen. 
Duch. 

Yes,  your  majesty, 
Alas ! 

all 

1 
Queen. 

Cas.  • 

[Aside. 

He  has  "  killed  six  wolves !  "  What  an  agreeable  piece 
of  information  to  forward  to  his  betrothed  bride  —  her 
gentle  heart  longing  for  some  kind  word  !  "  Killed  six 
wolves  !  "  I  wish  the  rest  of  the  pack  may  revenge  their 
brethren,  and  kill  him !  "  It  blows  a  high  wind."  I  hope 
it  may  blow  him  off  his  horse ! 

Duch.  [  Offering  letter. 

Does  your  majesty  wish  to  read  this  victorious  record 
of  his  majesty's  exploits  ? 

Queen. 
No. 

Cas.  [Aside  to  Duchess. 

Is  that  really  all  ? 

Duch. 

All.  And  a  great  deal,  too !  Should  there  be  more  ? 
The  king  was  hunting  ;  he  paused  to  write  the  number  he 
had  killed,  and  the  state  of  the  weather.  It  is  a  very 
important  and  royal  letter  indeed,  and  should  be  enrolled 
in  the  archives  of  the  state.  [Examining  letter. 

Stay  !  His  majesty  did  not  write  this.  He  but  dic- 
tated. 

Queen.  [  Taking  letter. 

No,  't  is  not  his  hand ;  the  signature  alone  is  his. 

[Looking  more  curiously  at  letter,  and  aside. 

Ah,  is  this  some  illusion  ?  This  writing  is  the  same  as 
that  of  the  letter  received  with  the  flowers.  What  can 
this  mean  ?    Do  they  come  then  from  a  courtier  ?  [  To  Alba. 

Know  you  who  it  was  that  wrote  this  letter  at  the  king's 
dictation  ? 


RUY    BLAS.  27 

Alba. 
The  Duke  Olmedo. 

Queen. 
Duke  Olmedo  ? 

Ditch. 
The  first  minister. 

Alba. 

Who  galloped  hither,  and  now  waits  for  me  in  the 
council  chamber. 

Queen. 

Duke  Olmedo  !  [Queen  sits  at  table,  r.,  with  letter. 

Duch. 

A  scion  of  the  great  house  of  Bazan ;  a  perfect  and 
accomplished  cavalier,  his  noble  birth  bursting  through 
every  look. 

Cas. 

[  To  one  of  the  ladies,  overheard  by  Alba. 

The  handsomest  young  gallant  of  them  all.     I  loved 

him  at  first  sight,  although,  alas,  I  've  not  changed  word 

with  him ;  but  I  've  a  plan  to  send  to-night  to  him  by  old 

Paquita.     I  die  with  curiosity  to  hear  how  he  makes  love. 

[Alba  comes  down,  l.,  in  rage. 

Alba.  [Aside. 

Indeed.  She  loves  him,  then !  and  he  is  my  twenty- 
third  successful  rival.  I  '11  pick  a  quarrel  with,  and  kill 
him.     Yes,  Olmedo  's  dead. 

Your  majesty,  may  it  please  you  I  retire  ?     [To  Queen. 
[She   bows.     lie   crosses,  tvhile  the  Queen  and 
Duchess  speak. 

Queen. 
The  duke  Olmedo. 

Duch. 

Don  Caesar  de  Bazan,  duke  of  Olmedo. 
4 


„g  RUY    BLAS. 

Alba. 

Don  Caesar  de  Bazan,  duke  of dead.  [Exit. 

[  Casilda  speaks  aside,  to  ladies,  at  Albans  exit. 

Cos. 

The  old  count  is  jealous — furious.  I  must  get  him  out 
of  the  way  —  even  if  I  'm  obliged  to  kiss  him  —  or  a  duel 
may  ensue. 

Queen. 

Is  council  held  to-day  ? 

Duch. 
Madam,  it  is.  [March  pp. 

Cas. 

See !  The  duke  is  passing  through  the  court-yard, 
going  to  the  council  chamber. 

[All  the  ladies  crowd  to  window. 

Queen.      [Going  toward  window. 
Ah,  I  would  see  him.         [Ladies  fall  back  from  window. 

Duch. 

Pardon,  your  majesty ;  but  the  etiquette  of  this  great 
court  of  Spain  forbids 

Queen.  [Aside. 

Etiquette  ?  O,  how  gladly  would  I  exchange  your 
imperceptible  fetters  for  the  iron  chains  that  weigh  down 
the  malefactor  !  [  To  Duchess. 

Who  is  the  duke  of  Olmedo  ?  His  title  is  a  new  one 
to  me. 

Duch. 

A  young  nobleman  of  the  house  of  Bazan,  recom- 
mended to  the  king,  and  to  me,  by  the  Marquis  de  Santa 
Cruz.  He  is  a  most  accomplished  gentleman,  of  rare 
talent  for  government. 


RUY    BLAS.  2  0 

Queen. 
You  mean,  I  suppose,  for  intrigue. 

Duck. 

No,  your  majesty.  He  is  distinguished  by  high  bear- 
ing and  a  great  regard  for  decorum  and  etiquette.  Since 
I  have  been  in  office  I  have  had  the  aid  of  his  authority 
in  re-establishing  all  those  ancient  forms  and  strict  rules 
about  egress  and  ingress  to  and  from  the  palace  which 
prevent  all  chance  of  easy  approach  to  the  person  of  your 
majesty. 

Queen. 

So,  then,  I  have  to  thank  him  for  all  these  restrictions 
which  have,  of  late,  made  life  a  burden  to  me. 

Duck. 

Which  tend  to  elevate  and  make  more  sacred  the  maj- 
esty of  the  queen  of  Spain. 

Queen.  [Aside. 

I  see  the  snare.  Ah,  is't  possible  that  a  noble — that  a 
man  could  lend  himself  to  further  a  plot  against  a  woman, 
by  such  a  vile  system  of  petty  torture  ? 

[Aloud. 
I  cannot  believe  it. 

Duch. 

Your  pardon.  As  the  officers  and  servants  of  the  court 
had  fallen  into  habits  of  neglect  in  these  matters,  and  were 
difficult  to  reclaim,  to  enforce  my  directions,  here  is  an 
order  of  state  commanding  their  observance ;  written  and 
signed  by  the  duke,  with  an  abstract  of  the  various  rules 
to  be  revived,  and  the  watches  to  be  kept  by  the  guards 
and  pages. 

Queen.  [Aside,  taking  paper. 

'T  is  the  same  hand.     Ah,  base 

[  To  Duchess. 
Will   you  permit  me    to  retain  for  a   short   time  this 


30  RUY    BLAS. 

precious  document,  and  leave  me  to  peruse  it  at  leisure 
that  I  may  obtain  some  knowledge  of  what  I  am  free  to 
do,  and  what  's  forbidden  ? 

Buck. 

Willingly,  your  majesty.  A  queen  of  Spain  should  be 
perfect  mistress  of  court  etiquette,  and  cannot  be  better  em- 
ployed than  in  its  study.  You  will  find  it  very  edifying 
and  interesting  reading,  I  am  sure.  Ladies,  it  is  the  festi- 
val of  Kunegunda,  the  patroness  of  decorum.  Let  us  go 
and  make  an  obeisance  at  her  shrine,  in  the  royal  chapel, 
and  I  shall  afterwards  entertain  you  by  reading  her  life. 

Cas.  [Aside. 

In  twenty-six  chapters  —  what  a  treat!  I  should  fall 
asleep. 

[  The  Duchess  makes  a  very  stately  curtsey,  which 
all  the  ladies  mimic — hardly  restraining  their 
laughter.  Exeunt  l.  2.  e.  Duchess,  and  all  the 
ladies  except  Casilda,  who,  ivhen  Duchess  has 
turned  away,  runs  to  Queen,  kneels,  and  kisses 
her  hand. 
But  now  to  pacify  Count  Alba.  Exit  Casilda. 

Queen. 

[Takes  letter  from  her  breast  and  compares  it  with 
paper. 

The  same — the  same.     O,  infamy  ! 

[Dashes  letter  on  table. 

Ah,  heaven,  thou  hast  punished  me  for  cherishing  in  my 
heart  the  vain  dream  of  being  loved !  These  flowers,  this 
letter,  these  restrictions  —  all  were  portions  of  the  same  plot 
to  humble  me.  Annoyance  —  torture  on  the  one  hand, 
temptation  on  the  other.  Did  he  not  say  he  was  of  the 
house  of  Bazan  —  a  relative,  no  doubt,  of  Don  Salluste  ; 
in  league  with  him;  perhaps  his  instrument.  But  I  shali 
defeat,  nay,  triumph  over  both.    I  shall  meet  this  plotting — 


RUY    BLAS. 


31 


this  base  courtier  duke,  and  in  full  council  denounce  his 
treason  ;  cast  his  flowers  and  his  letter  at  his  feet,  and  rend 
his  order  too — nay,  more,  attach  him  as  a  traitor  to  his 
sovereign !  For  once,  the  queen  of  Spain,  so  called,  shall 
play,  indeed,  the  queen,  and  vindicate  the  outraged  woman 
too.  The  means,  thank  heaven,  I  have  at  hand.  Casilda 
showed  me  a  passage  leading  from  this  apartment  to  a 
secret  cabinet  within  the  council  chamber,  —  made  by 
Philip  II.,  that  he  might  overhear,  while  concealed  in  it, 
his  ministers  debate  :  a  mean  design,  but  it  will  serve  me 
now  to  reach  the  council  in  despite  the  duke's  high 
mandate.     Quick  —  the  letter — order — and  the  flowers. 

[Looks  at  flowers. 
Of  what  sweet  thoughts  were  they  the  types  to  me ;  so 
delicate  and  pure  I  deemed  the  mystic  love  they  came  to 
represent!  and  was  it  all  a  dream,  sad  heart — a  dream? 
Base  cunning ;  that  outrages  the  holiest  symbols  of  true 
love, —  and  calls  for  quick  and  bitter  vengeance  ! 

[Exit  L.  2.  E. 


gicenc  &>econH.< 


f  Council  Chamber  in  the  Royal 
Palace.  Arch,  with  Steps  and 
Platform  c.  Large  Table  on 
which  are  Papers,  Books,  Pens, 
Ink,  etc.,  etc.,  l.  Several  Large 
Chairs  around  it.  Smaller  Table, 
also  furnished  with  writing 
Materials,  r.  Chairs  r.  Large 
Window  r.  2.  e.  Secret  Panel  l. 
Don  Manuel,  Camporeal,  Don 
Basto,  Don  Priego,  Don  Pedro,  and 
other  Noblemen  discovered,  Seat- 
ed, or  Lounging  about  the  Room. 


Man. 
His  sudden  rise  is  most  mysterious. 


32  RUY    BLAS. 

Camp. 

The  order  of  the  Golden  Fleece;  the  office  of  state 
secretary;  minister  of  finance  —  prime  minister;  and  now 
made  duke  of  Olmedo. 

Man. 
All  in  six  months. 

Camp. 

A  powerful  influence  supports  and  forwards  all  his  wishes. 

Man.  [Cautiously. 

Yes,  the  queen. 

Camp. 

Nay,  although,  neglected  by  her  husband,  she  might 
be  well  tempted  to  cast  her  eye  upon  our  chivalrous  min- 
ister, they  never  meet.  My  suspicions  at  first  took  the 
course  that  yours  did ;  but  I  have  watched  well,  and  can 
find  no  trace  or  symptom  of  communication  between 
them.  I  do  not  think  she  has  ever  seen  him.  He  lives, 
when  out  of  the  council  chamber,  a  secluded  life,  in  the 
palace  that  formerly  belonged  to  his  cousin,  Don  Salluste; 
attended  only  by  a  couple  of  dumb  servants.  He  receives 
no  visitors. 

Man. 

All  this  is  very  singular  and  suspicious. 

[  Enter  Alba  c. 
Bas. 

Don  Caesar  is  a  man  of  great  ambition  and  surpassing 
genius. 

Alba.  [  Advancing. 

He  's  clever ;  but,  gentlemen,  he  owes  a  great  deal  to 
my  influence.  I  it  was  who  recommended  him  to  the 
king;  I  it  was  who  guided  his  policy  by  my  advice,  and 
to  me  he  owes  nearly  every  advance  of  position  he  has 
obtained ;  and  you  are  all  wrong  in  supposing  that  he  is 
indebted  to  any  other  influence  than  mine.  /  made  his 
fortune.  [Goes  up 


RUV    BLAS. 


33 


Camp.  [  Aside  to  others. 

True,  and  I  rather  think  he  regrets  it  now ;  for  Olmedo 
shows  him  no  favour  in  return ;  but  the  patronage  of  the 
old  Duchess  Alberquerque,  the  mistress  of  the  household, 
makes  the  duke  independent.  I  have  heard,  from  those 
who  knew  him  formerly,  that  Don  Caesar,  to-day  our 
master,  was  then  one  of  the  greatest  fools  under  the  moon 
—  a  spendthrift,  who  dissipated  his  whole  patrimony  in  a 
few  years. 

Man. 

A  youth  of  folly  sometimes  makes  an  age  of  wisdom. 

Bas. 
I  believe  him  to  be  a  man  of  honour  and  probity. 

Camp. 

O,  credulous  Basto !  who  takes  seeming  for  reality : 
The  private  purse  of  which  he  has  the  command  annually 
absorbs  six  hundred  and  sixty  million  ducats.  'T  is  an 
obscure  little  Pactolus  reserved  for  a  particular  fisherman, 
but  in  which  I  should  like  to  cast  a  net. 

Prie. 

You  are  not  wise.  Your  present  talk  is,  at  least, 
very  imprudent.  My  late  grandfather — an  experienced 
courtier — always  gave  this  advice:  —  "  bite  the  king  but 
kiss  the  favourite." 

Alba.  [  At  table. 

Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  let  us  turn  our  attention  to 
public  affairs. 

Camp.  [  Aside. 

His  private  interest  he  means  —  his  avarice  has  some 
new  greed.  [  All  scat  themselves  at  table. 

Fed.      [To  Basto,  in  a  low  tone. 

I  want  you  to  make  my  nephew  an  alcade  or  custodian 
of  the  waifs  and  strays. 


34  RUY    BLAS. 

Bas. 

You  promised  me  to  name,  ere  long,  my  cousin  Mel- 
choir  bailie  of  the  Ebro. 

Ped. 

You  will  ask  me  to  dower  your  daughter  next  —  one  is 
perpetually  assailed. 

Bas. 

You  shall  have  your  alcade. 

Ped. 

And  you  your  bailie. 

Alba. 

Gentlemen  of  the  council,  I  must  call  your  attention  to 
the  fact  that  all  are  well  provided  for,  except  myself. 
You  have  charge  of  the  revenues  upon  tobacco,  Basto. 
Those  upon  indigo  and  musk  are  yours,  my  lord  marquis 
de  Priego  —  nice  picking  for  you  both.  Camporeal 
receives  the  imposts  upon  salt,  amber,  jet,  ivory,  and  other 
profitable  things.  Manuel,  why  regard  me  with  an 
unquiet  eye  ?  You  are  well  off,  I  am  sure ;  getting  as  you 
do,  the  duties  upon  arsenic,  ice,  lead,  and  rosewood,  and 
the  fines  paid  by  the  citizen  defaulters  for  the  remission  of 
corporeal  punishment.  A  vast  sum  —  but  I  have  nothing 
— nothing.     Gentlemen  give  me  something. 

Camp.  [Aside. 

O,  the  old  cormorant !  He  has  the  cleanest  profits  of 
all :  except  the  Indies  —  he  has  all  the  islands  in  both  seas; 
his  wide  wings  stretch  from  Majorca  to  Teneriffe. 

Alba. 
I  repeat — I  have  nothing. 

Prie.  [Laughing. 

He  has  the  negroes. 


RUY    BT,A.-.  ^5 

Ped. 

I  have  much  more  reason  to  complain.  I  want  the 
woods  and  forests. 

Alba. 

I  want  something  —  must  have  something.  Give  me 
the  arsenic  and  you  shall  have  the  negroes. 

[All  rise  and  talk  at  once.     Ruy  enters  at  back, 
observing  them. 

Ruy. 

My  lords !    .  My  lords  !  [All  start. 

O,  virtuous  statesmen  !  O,  faithful  senators,  who  took 
an  oath  to  serve  your  country.  Corrupt  servants ! 
Traitors!  False  stewards,  who  rob  your  master  when 
asleep !  have  you  no  interest  in  your  native  land  except  to 
pillage,  and  to  fly  from  her  ?  O,  midnight  plunderers, 
breaking  ope  a  grave  —  your  mother's  grave — to  filch  her 
wedding  ring!  Gentlemen,  for  twenty  years  the  wretched 
people,  whom  you  still  would  press,  groaning  beneath  a 
weight  of  taxes,  have  sweated  full  four  hundred  and  some 
thirty  million  crowns  of  gold,  to  pleasure  you  in  riot,  waste, 
and  luxury !  Spain  totters  to  destruction,  and  you  seek 
the  means  to  make  her  poorer,  to  enrich  yourselves. 
You,  Spaniards,  sack  your  homes  as  would  a  foreign  foe ! 
Threatened  by  war,  what  army  can  we  oppose  to  the 
invader  ?  None.  Our  barefoot  soldiers  are  transformed 
to  robbers  who  plunder  those  they  should  protect.  On 
land  starvation,  on  our  seaboard  menace;  abroad  a  war, 
and  discontent  at  home.  You  count  but  what  you  '11  gain  ; 
as  wreckers,  when  they  see  a  vessel  storm-tossed,  laugh 
with  glee  at  prospect  of  the  booty.  Shame  upon  the 
parricides  who,  in  the  dark,  poniard  their  father !  O,  ten 
thousand  shames  fall  upon  those  great  lords  who  rack 
their  brains  to  plot  the  ruin  of  their  native  land ! 

Alba. 

This  to  me !  A  Santa  Cruz !  The  head  of  the  house 
of  Bazan!  who  placed  him  first  in  office  —  the  in  grate. 
I  '11  be  revenged.  —  I  withdraw  my  support  from  you — I 
resign  my  office.     What  say  you,  sir,  to  that  ? 

5 


36  RUY   BLAS. 

Ruy. 

That  it  spares  me  the  pain  of  your  dismissal.  You  will 
withdraw,  my  lord,  and  in  three  days  leave  Madrid,  nor 
return  until  recalled. 

Alba. 

Leave  Madrid!  Exile  Santa  Cruz!  I  '11  challenge 
him — but  hold,  the  heralds  are  in  dispute  about  his  coat 
of  arms — he  referred  them  to  me.  I  '11  send  a  design 
with  the  bar  sinister.     Ha,  ha !  I  '11  be  revenged.       [Exit. 

Ruy. 

Gentlemen,  you  will  please  retire.  In  two  hours  we 
will  resume  our  labours. 

[Exit  all  but  Ruy.     Enter  a  Page,  with  letter. 

Page. 
A  letter  for  your  excellency. 


[  Gives  letter  to  Ruy. 
Ruy. 
The  king's  seal.  [£^  page 

"  To  our  trusty  and  well  beloved  cousin  : — The  subject 
of  which  we  wished  to  speak,  and  could  not  call  to  mind 
this  morning,  was  the  immediate  solemnization  of  our 
marriage  with  the  queen.  You  will  see  the  necessary 
preparations  instantly  made.      Carlos,   Rex." 

My  dream  has  reached  its  climax  —  the  crisis  of  my  fate 
has  come. 

[Enter  another  Page. 
Page. 

Your  excellency,  the  ambassador  of  France  requests  an 
interview. 

Ruy. 
I  cannot  see  him  now. 

Page. 

The  nuncio  of  the  pope  awaits  your  excellency  in  the 
hall  of  audience. 


RUY    BLAS.  37 

Ruy. 

At  this  hour,  it  is  impossible. 

[Exit  Page. 
O,  that  it  should  be  my  task  to  speed  the  preparations 
for  her  nuptials :  my  hand  must  turn  the  knife  already  in 
my  heart. 

[Queen  enters,  through  secret  panel. 

Queen. 

Noble,  yet  sad — as  I  have  dreamed  of  him — my  heart's 
ideal. 

Ruy. 

Great  heaven — the  queen! 

Queen. 

Yes,  the  queen;  who  for  the  first  time  greets  the 
minister. 

Ruy.  [Aside. 

For  six  months  I  have  avoided  meeting  her ;  what  fate 
has  sent  her  here — and  at  this  moment  too  —  O,  misery! 

Queen. 

Yes,  the  queen,  who  came  with  purpose  to  upbraid,  but 
in  thy  presence  asks  thy  pardon. 

Ruy. 
Upbraid !     Pardon ! 

Queen. 

I  can  speak  to  thee  without  fear ;  thou  art  too  noble  to 
misunderstand  me,  or  to  pass  the  bound  high  honour  puts 
between  us. —  My  fate,  a  sad  one  —  made  harsher  by 

restrictions  attributed  to  thee  — led  me  to  cherish  a  fond 
dream  of  one  unknown,  who,  shrouded  in  the  mystery  true 
passion  only  can  endure,  had  sung  sad  music  to  my  soul — 
invisible — yet  living  and  beloved.     Thou  seest. 

[  Shows  flowers. 


3  8  RUY    BLAS.  ..     ' 

Rny. 
My  gift — its  shrine  her  heart  —  O,  joy  ineffable! 

Queen, 

This  order,  in  the  same  hand,  for  a  moment  palled  all 
the  heaven  of  my  dream ;  and  in  the  darker  mirror  of  my 
soul  I  saw  a  tempting,  mocking  demon,  where  before  had 
smiled  an  angel.  I  thought  thy  hidden  love  a  snare — a 
plot  —  and  each  restriction  but  another  spur  to  urge  me 
onward  to  the  toil. 

Ruy. 
O,  heaven  !     'T  was  so  you  judged  of  me ! 

Queen. 

A  moment  only.  I  sought  thee,  to  upbraid  ;  I  came  to 
meet  a  mere  intriguing  courtier,  and  to  confound  with  just 
reproach  his  cruelty  and  baseness ;  but,  when  I  heard  the 
noble  words  that,  bursting  from  a  great  and  mighty  heart, 
swept  down  the  towering  pride  and  insolence  of  Spain's 
most  haughty  and  rapacious  foes  —  her  lords!  Nay, when 
I  heard  thy  voice,  and  saw  thy  flashing  eyes,  that  pierced, 
like  shafts  of  scorn,  the  breasts  of  those  base  peers,  I  felt 
that  I  had  wronged  thee,  and  for  that  I  come  to  ask  thy 
pardon. 

Ruy. 
Ah,  madam,  you  were  there  ?        [Motions  toward  panel. 

Queen. 

Yes,  I  was  there;  unknown  to  thee,  and  have  heard 
all :  you  forgive  me  ? 

Ruy. 

Forgive  thee  —  I,  thy  slave  —  thy  worshipper!  Ah! 
heaven,  thou  knowest  how  I  have  shunned  this  dread 
temptation ;  aid  me  to  resist  it. 


RUY    BLAS. 


Queen. 


39 


I  knew  not  that  such  grandeur,  both  of  thought  and 
speech,  existed  until  now.  You  are  young,  but  lately 
raised  to  power,  and  yet  you  speak  like  one  who  might 
give  laws  to  kings.  Whence  comes  this  woman's  tender- 
ness of  heart  —  this  manly  fearlessness  of  foes  ? 

Ruy. 

It  springs  from  love  of  thee.  In  serving  Spain,  I  serve 
the  queen.  Thy  image  lends  me  strength  !  Strengthened 
by  love,  I  am  all-powerful !  I  love  thee  !  —  hear  me  out. 
Thou  art  another's — a  king's  —  though  not  his  bride,  his 
bride  elect.  I  know  it;  knowing  it,  have  shunned  thy 
presence,  still  loving  while  I  shunned  it.  I  have  loved 
thee  as  the  mariner  the  star  that  guides  him  home.  A 
distant  homage  and  an  awe-struck  worship !  Though  low 
to  thee  as  is  the  earth  from  heaven,  I  love  thee  as  the 
blind  may  love  the  light  he  never  hopes  to  look  on !  Nay, 
start  not;  thou  art  to  me  all  sacred  as  saint  to  votary; 
as  was  the  muse  to  poet  worshipper  in  olden  times,  or 
nymphid  forms,  imagined  purer  e'en  than  Dian's  self, 
and  cloistered  deep  in  ocean's  crystal  caves. 

Queen. 
Dare  I  believe  — have  I  the  right  to  listen? 

Ruy. 

For  six  months,  although  consumed  with  longing  to 
behold,  I  have  shunned  —  avoided  thee  —  O  with  what 
agony  of  self  repression !  but  now,  I  dare  to  gaze  on, 
worship,  and  avow  my  love  to  thee.  I  shrink  back,  lest 
my  shadow  should  profane.  What  is  your  wish  ?  Say  to 
me— die  — and  I  am  dead.  O,  have  I  offended  ?  Pity— 
pardon  me. 

Queen.  [Aside. 

What  music  have  mine  ears  drunk  in  ?  This  is  indeed 
the  love  that  poets  sing  of — that,  were  I  free  to  answer, 


4°  RUY   BLAS. 

would  make  life  a  blessing,  earth  a  paradise;  and  yet, 
though  mine  and  living  but  for  me,  I  must,  as  he  did, 
shun  it  like  a  foe. 

Ruy. 

Thou  dost  not  speak — O,  heaven!  I  have  offended 
past  thy  power  to  pardon. 

Queen. 

No  need  of  pardon;  when  no  wrong  has  e'er  been 
done.  May  heaven  have  pity  on  us  both,  for  both  are 
sadly  doomed  !  I  will  not  wrong  thy  noble  nature  with  a 
doubt.  Thou  'It  not  presume,  though  I  confess  to  thee 
my  queenly  life  a  miserable  one.  I  tried  to  give  my  love 
where  duty  told  me  't  would  be  one  day  due.  It  was 
repulsed.  All  sense  of  tenderness  was  frowned  into  a 
fonnal  show  of  mere  politeness.  Surrounded  but  by  pulse- 
less beings,  who  moved  and  acted  but  as  puppets  do ; 
assured  affection  could  not  live  for  me ;  my  sense  of  life 
grew  dull  —  and  in  the  shade  of  cold  court-etiquette,  my 
heart  seemed  withering,  and  I  longed  to  die. 

Ruy. 
Alas! 

Queen. 

To  shun  despair  I  gave  my  soul  to  dreams ;  and  sought 
for  their  indulgence  the  solitude  of  lonely  walks.  In  one 
of  these  I  found,  while  resting  for  a  moment  in  the  park, 
a  bouquet  of  the  flowers  I  most  loved.  I  wondered 
whence  they  came;  but  when  the  offering  was  renewed  I 
knew  that  some  one  cared  to  please  me ;  and  with  their 
fragrances  inhaled  a  sense  of  ecstasy  —  a  thought  that  some 
one  loved  me. 

Ruy. 

O,  my  queen !     Kill  me  not  with  sense  of  too  much  joy. 

Queen. 

I  knew  not  whom,  and  scarcely  wished  to  know.  My 
fancy  hardly  sought  to  realize  his  form ;    my  heart  was 


RUY   BLAS.  41 

satisfied  to  be  but  loved.  At  last  this  letter  came  —  a  terror 
first  —  a  treasure  soon.  Heaven  pardon  me — no  doubt 
'twas  wrong — but  my  poor  heart  so  hungered  for  affec- 
tion, I  could  not  in  my  loneliness  deny  it  the  deep  bliss  to 
feel  itself  enthroned  as  queen  of  some  pure  soul.  Imagi- 
nation grew  more  bold  and  gave  a  bright  ideal  to  my 
heart, —  which,  noble,  tender,  pure,  as  I've  found  thee,  I  do 
not  shame  to  own  that  heart  set  up  as  idol,  and  enshrined. 

Ruy. 
My  queen — O,  spare  me. 

Queen. 

Alas  !  What  poverty  of  payment  is  this  poor  acknowl- 
edgment to  thee,  who  have  so  suffered  but  to  solace  my 
sad  solitude,  who  now  must  suffer  more,  since  now  we 
ne'er  again  must  meet. 

Ruy. 

Never.  'T  is  true ;  the  fatal  hour  is  at  hand.  Well,  I 
accept,  without  complaint,  my  destiny.  In  dreams  you  've 
loved  me  —  what  other  solace  needs  my  heart? 

Queen. 

This  one — since  you  so  nobly  think,  and  can  so  nobly 
act,  to  know  thyself  for  evermore  the  idol  of  my  dreams. 
Adieu. 

[S/ie  offers  her  hand.      He  is  about  to  take  it,  but, 
at  sight  of  the  betrothal  ring  upon  her  finger, 
checks  himself. 
Nay,  take  my  hand.  [Kneels  and  takes  her  hand. 

Ruy. 
My  queen 

Queen. 

We  part  forever.  Heaven  itself  may  smile  on  our  fare- 
well. 


42  RUY    BLAS. 

Ruy. 

'T  is  true :  pure  and  enshrined  as  heaven  thou  art  — 
farewell  forever. 

Queen. 

Forever,  here  below,  with  hope  to  meet  above. 

[  Exit  the  Queen. 
Ruy. 

Can  it  be  real?  Loved,  and  by  her!  'tis  so!  O! 
Paradise  that  opens  to  my  eyes  and  steeps  my  soul  in 
love's  profound  repose:  loved — happy  —  powerful. 

[  During  this  speech  Don  Salluste,  dressed  in  livery, 
enters,  and  sits  on  table,  carelessly  watching  Ruy. 

Duke  Olmedo ;  Spain  at  my  feet !  its  honour  in  my 
hands  —  my  country's  honour!  Teach  me,  O,  heaven! 
how  to  be  worthy  of  my  task ;  make  me  worthy  to  offer 
her  as  shield  and  sword  —  the  queen,  my  arm;  the  woman, 
my  devotion.  A  love  most  pure,  most  loyal.  My  dream 
is  realized — my  joy  complete  —  I  have  no  more  to  fear. 

Sal. 

Good  day. 

Ruy. 

Great  heaven  !  —  I  'm  lost  — the  marquis ! 

Sal. 

It  appears  that  you  did  n't  expect  me. 

Ruy. 

Your  lordship  has,  indeed,  taken  me  by  surprise. 

[  Aside. 
My  evil  star   again   has  risen.     The   angel   gone,  the 
demon  comes ! 

Sal. 

Well,  how  goes  all  with  you  ? 

Ruy. 

This  livery 


RUY    BLAS.  43 

Sal. 

O,  it  procured  me  an  entrance  to  the  palace.     I  find  it 
much  to  my  taste,  and  most  convenient. 

Rny. 
But,  you  are  in  danger 


Sal. 
Danger — what  an  absurd  idea! 

Ruy. 
As  an  exile,  you  must  be. 

Sal. 
Do  you  think  that  possible  ? 

Ruy. 

What,  if  you  should  be  recognized  in  the  very  court, 
and  in  open  day  ? 

Sal. 

Bah !  The  happy  gentlemen  in  favour  at  court  have  no 
remembrance  of  one  in  disgrace;  their  time  is  too  pre- 
cious to  be  wasted;  besides,  no  one  ever  criticizes  the 
profile  of  a  lacquey.  Apropos,  what  is  this  I  heard  talked 
of  just  now  ?  Is  it  true  that,  influenced  by  some  patriotic 
mania,  you  have  exiled  the  grandee,  Santa  Cruz,  through 
whose  influence  you  first  obtained  office  ?  That  is  very 
ungrateful  of  you;  you  forget  he  is  your  relation,  Don 
Caesar.  Look  at  your  escutcheon ;  you  will  find  the 
quarterings  are  similar.  He 's  certainly  your  relation. 
Wolf  should  hunt  with  wolf.  Your  eyes,  ears,  hands 
should  open  to  him;  close  to  all  others.  Every  one  for 
his  own. 

Ruy. 

My  lord,  pardon  me ;  but  these  nobles  were  guilty,  not 
only  of  neglect  in  discharge  of  their  official  duties,  but  of 
6 


44  RUY   BLAS. 

systematic  plunder.  The  revenues  of  the  State  flowed  not 
into  the  treasury,  but  into  their  pockets.  A  great  war 
pending,    they    saw    Spain   without    an    army   and    still 

thought 

Sal. 

There  appears  to  be  a  draught  from  yonder  window  — 
oblige  me  by  closing  it. 

[  After  a  violent  effort,  Ruy  obeys.     Music  mean- 
while. 

Ruy. 

As  I  was  saying,  your  excellency,  the  safety  of  Spain 
can  only  be  ensured  by  the  probity  of  its  ministers.  I 
had  flung  down  the  gauntlet,  and  sent  word  to  the 
emperor  that  I  should  only  answer  his  imperious  demands, 
in  the  field,  at  the  head  of  an  army. 

Sal. 

Give  me  my  handkerchief. 

[Same  business  and  music  as  before. 

You  were  saying 

Ruy. 

The  safety  of  Spain  is  in  our  hands.  Let  us  save  the 
people — let  us  dare  to  be  just — let  us  drive  selfish 
intrigue  from  our  councils,  and  treat  as  criminals  these 
lordly  knaves. 

Sal. 

My  good  friend,  let  us  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense 
—  this  patriotic  froth:  your  ministerial  cant  of  virtue, 
probity,  is  a  stale  bait  for  popularity — a  piece  of  faded 
tinsel,  that  is  out  of  date.  You  are  really  but  a  child  in 
these  matters.  Your  globe  is  but  a  balloon  which  we 
need  but  pierce  with  a  pin  to  make  collapse ;  indeed,  a 
good  hearty  kick  would  burst  it,  and  let  out  all  the 
vapourish  vanity  within. 

Ruy. 

My  lord 


RUY    BLAS.  45 

Sal. 

I  thought  I  should  surprise  you ;  but  let  us  occupy  our- 
selves with  more  serious  and  important  matters.  You 
will  wait  my  coming  to-morrow  evening  in  your  palace  — 
the  one  that  I  have  given  you.  My  project  nears  accom- 
plishment.    Take  care  that  you  have  no  attendants. 

Ruy. 
My  lord,  I  shall  obey.     I  submit  to  everything.     Do 
but  assure  me  that  the  object  which  you  have  in  view  does 
not  affect  the  safety  of  the  queen. 

Sal. 
The  queen?     O — the  princess  de  Neubourg.     What 
makes  you  think  of  her  ? 

Ruy. 

You  are  a  strange  and  fearful  man.  I  have  an  instinct 
of  some  dark  design  which  makes  my  spirit  tremble.  I 
feel  that  you  would  compel  me  to  commit  a  crime  against 
the  very  religion  of  my  heart — for  I 

Sal. 

I  know  it  —  you  love  her. 

Ruy. 
You  know  it  ? 

Sal. 

Yes;  but  what  does  that  matter?  You  dream,  my 
master,  truly ;  in  seeking  to  be  serious,  you  only  play  the 
buffoon.  The  goal  to  which  I  only  know  the  way  is  much 
nearer  to  your  happiness  than  you  can  conceive.  I  lead 
you.  Be  content  and  obey  me.  I  have  made  a  lord 
of  you  —  't  is  a  singular  transformation  —  for  the  moment 
you  have  all  the  semblance  of  one :  but  do  not  forget  you 
are  my  valet — my  lacquey.  You  are  a  courtier  by  mere 
chance  ;  your  true  place  is  behind  my  carriage.  So,  pray 
be  reasonable. 

Ruy. 

O,  heaven !  of  what  crime  of  mine  is  this  the  punish- 
ment ?     Do  not  permit  me  to  be  driven  to  despair.     Must 


46 


RUY    BLAS. 


I  assist  to  torture  the  poor  victim  of  another's  hate — per- 
chance the  object  of  my  own  heart's  love.  I  feel  assured 
his  object  is  but  revenge — vengeance  on  the  queen,  and  am 
I  to  aid  in  that  ?  become  to  her  an  object  of  affright  and 
horror?  I  shall  go  mad — my  reason  leaves  me.  O,  have 
pity;  mercy  on  her — on  me!  You  know  I  am  a  faith- 
ful servant — you  have  confessed  it,  often.  In  humbleness 
I  pray — implore  for  mercy — mercy. 

Sal.  [Aside. 

What  a  fool  this  fellow  is !  he  will  not  comprehend. 

[To  Ruy. 
Let  us  have  an  end  to  this,  my  master. 
You  have  closed  that  window  badly.     I  feel  still  the 
draught.  [Don  Salluste  crosses  to  R.  and  doses  window. 

Ruy. 

O,  this  is  past  endurance !  I  am  the  duke  of  Olmedo, 
prime  minister — all  powerful;  and  I  will  crush  beneath 
my  heel  the  tyrant  that  would  tread  on  me. 

Sal. 

What  say  you  ?  Pray  repeat  that  speech.  Ruy  Bias, 
duke  of  Olmedo  !  —  quite  blind  with  folly  !  you  forget  that 
upon  the  count  of  Bazan  was  conferred  the  dukedom  of 
Olmedo. 

Ruy. 


I  will  arrest  you. 
And  I  denounce  you. 
Me? 


Sal. 
Ruy. 


Sal. 

Yes.  I  foresaw  this,  and  took  care  to  put  your  head 
in  equal  jeopardy  with  mine.  Ha — ha — you  are  too 
quick  to  play  the  victor,  sir. 

Ruy. 
I  will  deny  all. 

Sal. 

Denial  will  not  serve  you. 


RUY   BLAS.  47 

Ruy. 

You  have  no  proofs. 

Sal. 

Thou  hast  no  memory  —  fool.  Hearken  sir!  and  know 
thyself  as  much  my  servant,  slave,  as  is  the  glove  to 
the  hand.  If  thou  obeyest  me  not,  if  to-morrow  thou  dost 
not  have  all  in  readiness  as  I've  directed,  at  thy  house, 
and  meet  me  there  —  if  thou  speakest  one  word  of  what 
has  passed  between  us,  to  a  living  being — if  thy  looks  or 
gestures  should  imply  betrayal,  she,  for  whom  thou  hast 
most  fear,  will,  as  the  object  of  thy  senseless  passion,  be 
publicly  defamed,  disgraced,  nay — lost;  she  shall  receive 
under  cover,  a  paper,  which  I  treasure  in  a  secure  place 
—  written — thou  shouldst  know  by  whose  hand — signed 
— thou  shouldst  know  with  whose  name — to  this  effect : — 

[Hurried  music. 

"  I,  Ruy  Bias,  servant  to  his  lordship,  the  marquis  of 
Finlas,  do  hereby  engage,  on  every  occasion,  public  and 
private,  to  render  him  the  obedience  of  a  faithful  lacquey." 

Ruy. 

Enough  !     I  will  do  your  bidding.  [Sinks  in  chair. 

[Murmurs  heard  within. 
Sal. 

They  come.  [Bowing  low  and  hiding  his  face. 

My  lord  duke,  command  your  faithful  valet. 

[  Lords  enter  c.  and  advance  r.     Music  ceases. 

All. 
Duke  Olmedo,  we  tender  our  resignations. 

Ruy.  [Starting  to  his  feet. 

'T  's  well !     You  are  no  longer  needed.     Go  ! 

[  Some  depart. 

[  To  those  who  remain. 

For  you,  if  you  remain,  know  that  my  hand  must  hold 

the  helm  and  steer  the  vessel  on  a  different  course.     You 

all  shall  feel  that  I  am  master  here.  [All  bow. 

CURTAIN. 


3Uct  Cfjitb. 


A  Room  in  the  Palace  of  Ruy  Blas.     Plat- 
«  form    c.   at    back,   accessible    by    steps. 

Stand  of  Arms  on  Platform.     Ruy  Blas 
discovered. 


Ruy. 

The  night  has  fallen,  and  yet  he  does  not  come.  The 
base  design  he  has  in  hand,  no  doubt,  requires  the  veil  of 
darkness;  but  that  concerns  not  me;  for  I  shall  be  no 
more  his  instrument.  Reflection  has  brought  calm  and 
resolution  to  my  soul.  My  first  unworthy  fears  I  've  found 
were  for  myself.  I  thought  but  of  my  own  disgrace.  He 
threatened  with  exposure  —  death.  I  can  brave  both  to 
serve  —  save  her,  and  my  obedience  ends  when  he  exacts 
the  slightest  service  that  approaches  wrong.  Nay,  I  will 
arrest  him  in  despite  his  threats.  Let  him  denounce ! 
His  head,  as  well  as  mine,  shall  fall,  and  she  can  have  no 
other  foe.  Did  she  not  buy  my  life —  my  heart  and  soul  — 
in  one  sweet  word,  when  she  said  she  loved  me  ?  They 
are  but  held  to  sacrifice  them  for  her  sake.  Yet,  when 
she  learns  I  was  a  mere  impostor — will  not  her  heart 
revolt  and  loathe  itself  for  having  ever  changed  a  thought 
with  mine  ?  But  no ;  unselfish  love  will  joy  to  perish  for 
her  sake,  and  in  her  own  high-wrought  and  noble 
nature  she  will  have  an  instinct  of  my  truth.  Yes ;  in  the 
sanctuary  of  her  pure  breast  my  memory  will  thenceforth 
be  shrined,  and  oft  receive  a  votive  tear.  Who  would  not 
die  a  thousand  deaths  for  that  sweet  hope?  Yes — yes; 
all 's  well !     She  's  safe  beyond  the  reach  of  harm. 

[Enter  Queen  r.  u.  e. 

Queen. 
Don  Csesar  !  48 


RUY   BLAS.  49 

Ruy. 

Great   heaven!     The    queen  —  alone  —  and   here  —  O, 
fatal  snare!     Hell  triumphs!     She  is  lost — madam 

Queen. 
Wherefore,  that  fearful  cry  and  start — Don  Caesar? 

Ruy. 
What  brought  —  who  bade  you  to  come  here? 

Queen. 
You. 

Ruy. 

I  —  In  heaven's  name  !  when  ? 

Queen. 
I  received  from  you 

Ruy. 

O,  speak !     Speak  quickly. 

Queen. 
A  letter. 

Ruy. 
From  me ! 

Queen. 
Written  certainly  by  you. 

Ruy. 
What  mystery  is  this  ?     I  wrote  no  letter 


Queen. 
Read  that.  Gives  letter. 

Ruy.  [Reads. 

"  My  queen  My  heart's  queen !  a  doom  of  danger 
hangs  o'er  my  head  —  thou  canst  avert  the  blow,  and  only 
thou.  Come  to  me  instantly  !  Without  thee,  I  am  lost." 
—  O  hell-born  plot!  I  had  forgot  that  letter.  Madam  — 
begone ! 


5° 


RUY    BLAS. 


Queen. 


Begone !  Don  Caesar !  this  indignity  ?  Have  I  been 
summoned  but  for  this — O,  heaven  !  are  you  then  false? 
If  so,  what  have  I  done  ? 

Ruy. 

Ay  —  what  indeed!     Destroyed  thyself ! 

Queen. 
For  mercy — how  ? 

Ruy. 

I  cannot  explain  —  there  is  no  time  —  fly  —  hence  — 
begone ! 

Queen. 

I  had  some  fear,  and  was  about  to  send  a  mes- 
senger  

Ruy. 

O,  heaven !  with  every  fleeting  moment  seems  to  flow  a 
life  drop  from  thy  heart  —  away  ! 

Queen. 

Hold,  I  understand  —  you  do  expect,  and  momently, 
some  dreadful  blow,  and  would  spare  me  the  knowledge — 
I  may  protect  and  will  remain. 

Ruy. 
Remain  —  and  here!  — 

Queen. 

The  letter  was  indeed  from  you !  but  now  the  danger 


you  would  brave  alone  • 

Ruy. 

No  —  understand 

Queen. 

I  do  —  first  impulse  made  you  write  that  letter  which 
your  after  care  for  me  would  fain  recall. 


RUY    BLAS.  -j 

Ruy. 

I  wrote  no  letter  to  thee  —  I  am  a  demon  —  Fly  —  O,  it 
is  you,  poor  lady,  whom  the  danger  threatens !  It  is  you 
that  hell  assails  on  every  side  —  O!  can  I  find  no  way  to 
convince  you?  Think  how  great  my  love  —  to  save  thee 
from  the  snare — the  pit  of  horror  to  the  fatal  verge  of 
which  thou  hast  been  lured — I  would  tear  my  heart  from 
out  my  breast.  O,  then  believe  me  that  thy  presence  here 
imperils  both.     Go — O,  go  at  once! 

Queen. 

Don  Caesar 

Ruy. 

Pause  not — but  fly  —  Thou  wast  not  seen  to  enter  ? 

Queen. 
Not  to  be  recognized,  I  think  —  but  seen  I  was. 

Ruy. 
O,  heaven !  by  whom  ? 

Queen. 

A  man,  cloaked  and  masked,  stood  in  the  shadow  of 

the  portico  

Ruy. 

Masked  ?     Did  he  not  speak  ?     Who  was  it,  can  you 
guess  ? 

[Enter  Don  Salluste  r.  u.  e. 

Sal. 

'T  was  I !  [Dropping  cloak. 

Ruy. 

O,  horror !     Fly,  madam ! 

Sal. 

It  is  too  late ;  the  Princess  de  Neubourg  is  no  longer 
queen  of  Spain. 

7 


52  RUY    BLAS. 

Queen. 
Don  Salluste! 

Sal. 
Forever  now  the  compeer  of  this  man. 

Queen. 

Gracious  heaven!  it  is  a  snare  indeed  —  and  Don 
Caesar 

Ruy. 
Alas,  madam !  thou  seest  now  what  thou  hast  done. 

Sal.  [To  Queen. 

I  hold  you  in  the  toils,  but,  as  I  am  about  to  speak 
without  anger  to  your  majesty,  pray,  listen  calmly.  I  have 
found  you  —  we  '11  not  noise  the  matter — alone,  with  Don 
Cassar,  in  his  chamber,  at  night.  This  fact  proven  or 
admitted  will  suffice  to  annul  your  contract  and  mock 
marriage,  made  by  proxy,  with  the  king.  That  scandal  of 
inquiry  may  be  avoided,  sign  for  me  this  letter  to  his 
majesty  I  shall  have  it  transmitted  by  the  grand  usher 
to  the  state  chancellor.  As  for  you,  without  is  a  carriage 
prepared,  in  which  I  have  placed  a  store  of  gold.  Depart — 
both  of  you  —  I  shall  aid  your  flight:  without  being 
molested  you  can  go  by  Toledo,  and  from  Alcantara  enter 
Portugal.  Go  where  you  please — we  will  not  seek  you. 
Obey  in  this,  and  I  swear  to  you  that  no  one,  save  myself, 
shall  know  of  this  affair:  refuse,  and  all  Madrid  shall  ring 
with  it  to-morrow.  You  have  no  alternative — you  are  in 
my  hand.  See,  madam  —  your  signature  to  this  is  all  you 
have  to  write. 

Queen. 

I  am  in  his  power. 

Sal. 

I  ask  nothing  but  your  written  admission  of  the  fact,  to 
give  the  king. 


RUY   BLAS.  53 

[To  Ruy. 
You  see,  my  friend,  how  I  toil  to  ensure  your  happiness. 

[To  Queen. 
Your  signature. 

Queen. 

What  shall  I  do 

Sal. 

Sign.  Do  not  hesitate.  You  lose  nothing  but  a  loveless 
crown — you  gain  heart-happiness,  for  a  joyless  throne — a 
good  exchange.  All  the  household  are  asleep ;  no  one 
knows  of  this  save  our  three  selves.  If  you  will  not  sign, 
you  subject  yourself  to  public  scandal — infamy — the 
cloister,  and  it  may  be — death. 

Queen. 
Merciful  powers ! 

Sal. 

You  are  really  free  —  the  princess  of  Neubourg  still  — 
your  marriage  a  state  fiction;  Don  Caesar  loves  you  —  he 
is  worthy ;  to  that  I  pledge  my  honour.  He  is  of  a  noble 
house — almost  a  prince.  He  is  duke  of  Olmedo — a 
Bazan,  and  grandee  of  Spain. 

Ruy. 
Hold! 

[Ruy  rushes  forward. 
My  name  is  Ruy  Bias !     I  'm  a  lacquey  ! 

Queen. 
What  said  he 

Ruy. 

I  said  my  name  is  Ruy  Bias — my  station  —  this  man's 
valet. 

[  To  Don  Salluste. 

You  and  I  make  a  vile  and  miserable  pair :  I  have  the 
lacquey's  garb — you  the  lacquey's  soul. 


54  RUY   BLAS. 

Sal. 

'T  is  true.     This  man  is  indeed  my  valet. 

[  To  Ruy,  who  goes  up  c. 
Fall  back,  and  silence,  sir. 

Queen. 
Great  heaven !  I  am  punished  for  my  dream. 

Sal. 

He  spoke  too  soon,  and  told  too  much ;  but,  no  matter 
now ;  my  vengeance  is  sufficiently  complete.  What  think 
you — is  it  not?  How  loudly  will  the  court  and  city 
laugh  to-morrow!  You  degraded  me — ha!  ha!  —  I  de- 
throne you.  You  banished — drove  me  from  Madrid;  I 
hunt  you  from  society.  You  offered  me  your  attendant 
for  a  wife;  I  have  given  you  my  lacquey  for  a  lover. 
Ha — ha — ha!  When  the  king  divorces  you,  you  had 
better  wed  this  valet.  Take  him  to  Neubourg  and  have  him 
made  a  duke,  —  that  you  may  still,  at  least,  be  a  duchess. 
Ah,  you  debased  and  triumphed  over  me,  yet  dared  to 

sleep  in  peace  —  vain  idiot  that  you  were 

[Ruy   locks  door,  and  then  stealthily  approaches 
Don  Salluste,  and  quickly  takes  his  sword. 

Ruy. 

Villain  !    You  insult  your  queen 

[Don  Salluste  goes  towards  door. 

No  need  of  that  —  the  door  is  fast.  No  one  can  enter 
here  —  nor  friend,  nor  follower — none  but  the  fiend  him- 
self—  the  fiend,  who,  until  now,  hath  gratified  thy  every 
wish ;  but  who,  if  he  would  save  thee  now,  must  in  person 
come  and  battle  for  the  prize!  'T  is  now  my  turn — my 
day  !     I  hold  thee  in  a  grasp  of  iron ! 

[To  Queen. 

Your  pardon,  madam.  This  man  has  no  soul — no 
feeling;  nothing  human  save  the  form.  Yesterday,  my 
torture  was  his  triumph — he  trod  on  me  —  he  mocked  and 
laughed  at  my  despair — he  struck  me  on  the  heart!     He 


RUY    BLAS.  55 

made  me  play  the  menial  in  the  council  hall,  where,  but 
an  hour  before,  I  was  dictator.  He  saw  me  weep,  and 
smiled:  he  heard  me  pray,  and  sneered:  I  —  I  cannot 
paint  his  savage  triumph. 

[  To  Don  Salhcste. 
Fiend  !  was 't  not  enough,  but  you  must  now  insult  your 
queen  !  Wretch !  to  thy  knees ;  and  kiss  the  dust  before 
her  !  But  no,  approach  her  not ;  we  crush  a  serpent  when 
it  hisses  in  our  path ;  and  when  a  coward  trickster  plots, 
not  merely  'gainst  a  woman's  life,  but  'gainst  her  dearer 
fame — intrigues  to  rob  his  sovereign,  not  of  her  diadem 
alone,  but  of  the  chaplet  crown  which  virtue  consecrates  — 
to  make  suspicion's  hot  breath  sear  her  stainless  brow — be 
he  lord  or  hind,  't  is  each  man's  duty,  first,  to  spit  upon, 
and  then  with  dagger,  sword — no  matter  what — destroy! 
Lord  !  marquis  !  duke  !  Thy  lacquey  triumphs  !  In  me 
behold  thy  executioner ! 

Sal. 

Give  me,  at  least,  a  sword,  and  let  us  meet  on  equal 
terms. 

Ruy. 

On  equal  terms  !  Lord  marquis,  sure  you  jest !  What ! 
A  gentleman  cross  swords  with  his  own  valet.  Fie! 
Stoop  to  fight  a  duel  with  a  slave !  a  dog !  whom  't  was 
thy  privilege  to  whip;  but  who,  in  turn  will  smite  thee  — 
yea,  smite  thee,  marquis,  as  the  shepherd  smites  the 
treacherous  dog  that  seeks  to  wolf  the  lamb. 

Queen. 
Have  mercy — spare  him ! 

Ruy. 
Though  an  angel  for  the  demon  pleads,  it  is  in  vain. 

Sal. 
Assassin ! 


56  RUY   BLAS. 

Ruy. 

No!  Avenger!  There  's  no  escape  —  no  help — no 
hope  !     I  greet  thee  like  thy  destiny. 

[  Queen  throws  her  arms  around  Ruy,  to  restrain 
him. 

Sal. 
His  eye  is  terrible. 

[Hurried  music.     Don  Salluste  rushes  up  steps  c, 
and  seizes  a  sword  from  stand  of  arms  on  plat- 
form above. 
Ha!     Ha!  we  're  equal  now! 

Ruy. 

Not  so.  Thy  crimes  weigh  thee  down,  and  heaven's 
wrath  is  on  my  sword.  'T  is  fate  decrees  my  arm  thy 
punishment ! 

[Ruy  releases  himself  from  the  Queen,  as  he  speaks, 
and  follows  Don  Salluste.  They  fight  and 
Don  Salluste  is  killed.  Queen,  overwhelmed, 
sinks  into  chair  r.  Ruy  covers  the  body  of 
Don  Salluste  with  cloak. 
Madam,  you  are  saved.     Your  enemy  lies  dead. 

Queen. 

[Rising,  and  shrinking  back. 
O,  heaven ! 

Ruy. 

O,  have  no  fear!  I'll  not  approach  —  I  dare  not.  I 
would  but  say  I  'm  not  so  guilty  as  you  think.  Love 
made  me  weak — blind — foolish;  but  not  base.  Have 
pity ! 

Queen. 

What  would  you,  sir  ? 

Ruy. 
Thy  pardon. 

Queen. 

Never ! 


KUY  blas.  57 

Ruy. 

Never  ?     'then  I  've  done  with  life.  [Drinks  poison. 

Sad  flame,  expire. 

Queen. 
What  said  you  ? 

Ruy. 

Nothing.  My  sins  now  end  —  nothing.  You  curse  me 
and  I  bless  you  —  nothing  more. 

Queen.  [  Troubled. 

Don  Caesar!  What  have  you  done — what  would  you 
do  —  you  do  not  speak — your  cheek  grows  pale  —  1 
pardon  —  I  believe  —  I  —  I  love  you,  Caesar! 

Ruy. 

My  name  is  Ruy  Bias. 

Queen. 

Ruy  Bias  !   I  pardon  thee  —  I  —  I  love  thee,  Ruy  Bias! 

—  Paler  and  paler  still!  Thou  diest!  1  might  have 
saved  thee ! 

Ruy. 

No !  no !  my  queen !     Had  thine  avowal  bade  me  live 

—  it  could  not  be!  'T  was  fated  —  and  so  best.  Had  I 
indeed  been  duke,  my  life  were  still  a  curse  to  thee.  The 
lacquey's  love  to  sadness  added  shame.  Yet  I  may  hope 
for  pardon  —  blessing  thee  for  thy  past  love  —  and  pity 
now.  Had  I  lived,  my  love  had  poisoned  all  thy  happi- 
ness. I  am  repaid.  You  forgive — you  love  me  !  'T  is 
all  I  lived  for,  and  is  worth  dying  for.  Fly  —  fly,  my 
queen — O,  fly,  at  once!  Here,  take  the  key — begone! 
Thy  secret 's  safe  !  The  only  witness  of  thy  presence  here 
— now  dies  —  dies  most  happy,  in  thy  arms.  My  queen! 
Adieu!  [Music,  very  low  and mournful.     Picture. 

CURTAIN. 


DON  CAESAR  DE  BAZAN 


VOL.    Ill 


preface* 


* 


*T^HE  French  comedy  of  which  this  is  an  adapted  trans- 
■*■  lation  was  written  by  MM.  Dumanois  and  Dennery, 
and  was  first  presented  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin  Theatre,  in 
Paris.  The  original  representative  of  Don  Cozsar  de  Bazan 
was  Frederick  Lemaitre.  "Here"  says  Lewes  ["Actors  and 
the  Art  of  Acting"  p.  /j'J,  "  was  the  union  of  grace  and  tat- 
ters, ofe/egance  and  low  habits.  The  Spanish  nobleman  had 
stained  his  ermine,  and  dragged  his  honour  through  the 
wine-shop  and  the  brothel ;  but  he  had  never  wholly  lost 
himself,  and  had  not  perverted  his  original  nature.  Very 
shortly  you  perceived  the  real  nature  of  the  man  underneath  — 
the  nature  stained,  not  spoiled,  by  reckless  dissipation  ;  and  it 
was,  therefore,  no  surprise  when,  as  the  play  proceeded,  the 
nobler  elements  of  this  nature  asserted  themselves,  and  Don 
Ccesar  claimed  respect." — The  comedy  thus  brilliantly  vitalized 
in  Paris  was  speedily  made  known  in  London,  and  thence  it 
came  to  America.  The  first  English  translation  of  it — 
which,  with  a  few  changes,  is  here  reprinted — was  made 
by  Gilbert  A.  A' Beckett  and  Mark  Lemon,  and  was  brought 
out  at  the  Princess's  Theatre,  Lotidon,  on  October  8th,  1844 — 
Don  CcBsar being  played by  James  W.  Wallack.  "The  play" 
said  N.  P.  Willis, — who  there  saw  Wallaces  performance, 
and me?itioned  it  in  a  subsequent  letter  ["Life  of  Wallack" 
P-  39\  —  "seems  conceived  and  written  especially  for  this  fine 
actor 's  peculiar  powers.     The  high-born  Spanish  gentleman, 


in  pride  and  rags,  indomitably  gay  in  his  worst  perils  and 
extremities,  and  preserving  his  elegance  through  all  his  trials 
and  tatters,  could  never  be  represented  with  ?nore  adinirable 
truth  and  attractiveness.  The  abandon  7vith  which  Wallack 
plays,  seemingly  carried  away  by  the  gaiety  of  the  part,  yet 
always  true  to  nature  and  to  the  poet's  meaning,  gives  his 
performance,  to  me,  a  charm  irresistible" —  This  personation 
of  Don  Ccesar  continued,  for  many  years,  to  illustrate  that 
airy  fancy,  sparkling  humour,  and  exquisite  grace  which  were 
so  delightful  in  the  acting  of  the  always  honoured  and  now 
lamented  Veteran.  Two  other  versions  of  this  cotnedy  were 
produced  in  London  at  about  the  same  time  with  this ;  one 
by  Dion  Boucicault,  at  the  Adelphi ;  the  other  by  Charles 
Mathews,  entitled  "A  Match  for  a  King"  at  the  Hay- 
market.  The  piece  first  made  its  appearance  in  America,  on 
December  pth,  1844,  at  Mitchell's  Olympic  Theatre,  New- 
York.  The  historic  period  of  "Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  "  is 
the  same  as  that  of  Victor  Hugo's  "Ruy  Bias."  Charles  the 
Second,  of  Spain  —  tvho,  in  the  comedy,  is  not  unlike  the 
popular  ideal  of  Charles  the  Second,  of  England,  though  in 
fad  he  was  but  little  better  than  an  idiot — reigned  from 
1661  to  1700.  Neither  "Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  "  nor  "Ruy 
Bias,"  however,  pretends  to  rest  on  a  substantial  historical 
basis.  In  Don  Ccesar  we  encounter  a  kind  of  profligate 
Mercutio — a  character  towards  which  the  old  Spanish 
writers  displayed  a  pardonable  partiality  [see,  for  a  hint, 
Vincent  de  la  Rosa,  in  chapter  47  of  "Don  Quixote"],  and 
which  steadily  finds  favour  with  all  who  love  laughter  and 
can  sympathize  with  intrepid  and  comic  audacity. 

W.   W. 
New-York,  November  2d,  1878. 


* 


"In  truth  he  was  a  strange  and  wayward  wight." — Beattie. 


'*  When  plate  was  at  pawn,  and  yob  at  an  ebb, 
And  stomach  as  empty  as  brain.' — Marvel. 


"  Thou  dost  drink,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
Happier  than  the  happiest  king!" — COWLEY. 


"  It  is  the  nature  of  rags  to  bear  a  kind  of  mock  resemblance  to  finery, — 
there  being  a  sort  of  fluttering  appearance  in  both,  which  is  not  to  be  distin- 
guished at  a  distance,  in  the  dark,  or  by  short-sighted  eyes ." — SWIFT. 


"  '  O,  dark-eyed  maid,' 

The  soldier  said, 

'  I  've  been  wounded  in  many  a  fray  ; 

But  such  a  dart 

As  you  shoot  to  my  heart 

'  I  never  felt  till  to-day  !  '  "—Sydney  Dobell. 


' '  And  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast. 
It  is  but  death  who  comes  at  last." — SCOTT. 


"  There  may  be  better  things  to  do 

Than  watching  the  weathercocks  for  pastime."— R.  B.  Lytton. 


Noblesse  oblige. 


* 


$cr£on£  ftcprcgentcti. 


Charles  II,  King  of  Spain. 

Don  Jose  de  Santarem,  his  Favourite,  ana J Prime  Minister. 
Don  Cesar  de  Bazan. 
Marquis  de  Rotundo. 
Judge. 
Lazarillo. 
Pedro. 
Lopez. 

First  Cavalier. 
Second  Cavalier. 
Captain  of  the  Guard. 
Maritana,  a  Gypsy. 
Marchioness  de  Rotundo. 

Lords,    Ladies,    Alguazils,     Guards,    Gypsies     and 
Attendants. 


fMace  anD  €ime. 


* 


SCENE. — Madrid  in  Spain. 

Period.  —  Latter  part  of  the  Seventeenth  Century. 

Time  of  Action.  —  Indefinite,  but  brief . 


DON  CESAR  DE  BAZAN. 


%tt  fiz$t. 


Madrid.     A   Public  Place.     Fountain 
i^cene  JFirfit.  \      c.    Wine-house  l.  3.  e.     A  Group  of 


,J  - ----- 

(      Singers  and  Dancers  discovered. 


All. 
Maritana !  [Music. 

[Enter  Maritana,  l.  u.  e.,  gaily  dressed  as  a  street 
dancer.  The  group  make  way  for  her.  She  is 
following  the  King,  who  enters,  preceding  her, 
disguised  in  a  cloak,  &fc.  j  he  regards  her  atten- 
tively. Enter  also  Don  Jose,  who  follows  at  a 
distance,  watching  them. 

Marit. 

A  maravedi,  sir  ;  only  one ;  ah  !  I  have  lost  the  power 
of  charming  coin  from  purses. 

f  The  King  drops  money  in  her  tambourine,  and  goes 
out,  hastily,  l. 

No,  no !  what,  gold  !  a  doubloon  !  yes,  and  yet  I  feared 
to  approach  that  noble  cavalier,  he  seemed  so  cross  and 
melancholy. 

[She  turns  to  group,  and  converses  with  them  as 
though  narrating  her  good  fortune. 


IO  DON    C/ESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  J.  [Looking  off. 

1  was  not  mistaken  —  it  is  the  king!  Thrice  have  I 
found  him  watching  this  pretty  wench,  seemingly  spell- 
bound by  her  grace  and  beauty. 

Marit. 

Yes,  friends,  it  is  my  birthday  :  therefore  I  devote  these 
pieces  to  mirth  and  revelry.   There !  [  Throws  money  to  them. 
Away  with  you  !     I  '11  join  you  presently. 

[Music.     Exeunt,  r.  u.  e.,  all  but  Maritana  and 
Don  Jose. 

Marit.  [  Going,  pauses. 

A  doubloon  !  neither  song  nor  dance  was  worth  so  large 
a  recompense. 

Don  J. 

Your  good  fortune  seems  to  have  made  you  thoughtful. 

Marit. 
Signor  !     O,  no,  no  ! 

Don  J. 

A  golden  piece,  was  it  not  ?     Here  is  its  fellow. 

[Gives  money. 

Marit. 
For  me  ? 

Don  J. 

Yes,  pretty  one,  for  you. 

Marit. 
Thank  you,  signor,  but 

Don  J. 
Well,  what  fear  you  ? 

Marit. 

The  influence  of  this  glittering  tempter.   [Holds  up  money. 

When  I  was  a  child,  my  step  was  light,  and  my  song 

the  tuneful  echo  of  my  merry  heart ;  but  now,  when  the 


DON   C/KSAR    DE    BAZAN.  II 

hopes  and  fears  of  womanhood  have  made  both  heart  and 
step  less  buoyant  than  of  old,  my  reward  is  greater:  should 
1  not  fear  ? 

Don  J. 

I  do  not  understand  you. 

Marit. 

You  will  not,  signor.  Think  you  that  I  am  a  woman, 
and  know  not  that  I  am  fair?  Men  tell  me  so  by  words 
and  looks  a  hundred  times  a-day.  Think  you  that  I  am  a 
woman  and  love  not  the  incense  that  is  offered  to  my 
beauty  ?  or  that  I  seek  not  to  adorn  the  shrine  that  claims 
so  many  worshippers  ? 

Don  J. 

Go  on.     I  see  no  cause  for  fear. 

Marit. 

Ah !  again  you  will  not.  The  songstress  of  the  street, 
the  mime  who  treads  the  measures  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
crowd,  knows  well  the  worth  men  set  upon  her,  signor; 
she  covets  gold  to  free  herself  from  bondage,  and  grows 
ambitious  of  a  higher  sphere.  Each  word  of  praise  is  as  a 
breath  to  fan  the  sleeping  flame ;  each  gift  is  fuel  to  the 
growing  fire. 

Don  J.  [Aside. 

The  very  instrument  I  need ! 

Marit. 
Have  I  not  cause  to  fear  the  end  ? 

Don  J. 
No. 

Marit. 

No  !  when  thus  I  'm  tempted.  [Shows  money. 

Haunted  as  I  am  by  a  vague  presentiment,  a  secret 
hope 


12  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  J. 
Indeed ! 

Marit. 

Yes,  yes;  since  I  attracted  the  gracious  notice  of  the 
queen,  I  have  thought  my  ambition  no  longer  criminal. 

Don  J. 

Let  me  be  prophet  of  your  future  fortunes;  confide  in 
me,  and  all  you  desire  shall  be  accomplished. 

Marit. 
All  accomplished  ? 

Don  J. 

I  have  the  power  to  make  your  dreams  realities.  Your 
wish  shall  be  the  law  of  nobles. 

Marit. 

[Aside  and  pleasantly  excited. 
I  cannot  breathe. 

Don  J. 

Come !  to-morrow  shall  see  you  the  glory  of  Madrid. 

[  Takes  her  hand. 
Marit. 
No,  no ! 

[Flourish  heard  L.  u.  e. 
Voices.  [  Within. 

Long  live  the  queen  !    Long  live  the  queen  ! 

Marit. 

Ah  !  the  queen  !     I  will  trust  alone  to  her. 

[Exit  L.  u.  E. 
Don  J. 

Indeed,  fair  maiden !  1  have  mastered  more  difficult 
intrigues  than  the  conquest  of  a  woman.  The  king  admires 
this  pretty  piece  of  vanity ;    hem !     The  mistress  of  the 


DON    CAESAR   DE    BAZAN.  1 3 

king  must  care  for  him  who  raised  her  to  dignity.  One 
obstacle  alone  presents  itself:  the  humble  origin  of 
Maritana.  That  must  be  concealed.  The  queen  will  learn 
the  wrong  she  has  sustained,  and,  woman-like,  resent  it. 

[Goes  up. 
O,  dare  I  hope  so  full  a  consummation  of  my  wildest 
dreams  ? 

[A  noise  within,  L.   u.  E.,  and  cries  of  "  Down 

with  him!" 

What  tumult 's  this  ?  [Looks  off. 

The  followers  of  Maritana  ?     Ah  !  she  appears  amongst 

them,  and  by  her  presence  has  silenced  them.    The  object 

of  their  anger  comes  this  way;    what  strange  fantastic 

fellow  have  we  here  ? 

[Enter  Don  Cozsar  l.  u.  e.,  followed  by  a  crowd, 
murmuring,  and  Maritana,  who  interposes  and 
persuades  them  to  retire.  Crowd  goes  out  L.  U.  E. 
Exit  Maritana  with  them. 

Don  C. 

The  curs !  but  that  it  would  have  disgraced  my  sword, 
I  'd  have  spitted  them  like  larks.  That  black  scoundrel's 
stiletto  would  have  found  a  sheath  in  the  noble  Don  Caesar 
de  Bazan,  but  for  yon  pretty  dancing  girl.  Where  have  I 
seen  her?  Ah!  I  remember — at  Seville,  when  I  pinked 
a  coxcomb  who  thought  that  the  cherries  on  her  lips  were 
to  be  plucked  gratis. 

Don  J.  [Aside. 

As  I  live,  't  is  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan ;  my  old  college 
friend  at  Salamanca. 

Don  C.        [Feeling  in  his  pockets. 

Not  a  maravedi !  By  the  aid  of  the  dice  box,  the  rogues 
have  cleaned  me  out  as  though  they  had  been  noblemen 
and  men  of  honour.  I  must  now  trust  to  the  air  and  the 
sky  for  board  and  lodging ;  well,  my  supper  will  be  light 
and  my  room  airy. 
2 


14  DON    CESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Don  J. 

Am  I  mistaken  in  addressing  you  as  Don  Csesar  de 
Bazan  ? 

Don  C. 

Eh  !  no,  signor ;  what,  Don  Jose  de  Santarem  ? 

Don  J.  [  Giving  his  hand. 

The  same. 

Don  C.  [Aside. 

His  doublet  is  of  three-pile  velvet — what  can  he  want 
with  me  ? 

Don  J. 

When  last  we  met,  you  were  young  and  prosperous. 

Don  C. 

Ah  !  you  perceive  the  alteration, 

[Looks  at  his  own  dress. 
But  I  was  always  fond  of  change. 

Don  J. 

You  inherited  a  noble  name  and  a  princely  fortune. 

Don  C. 

True  ;  I  've  preserved  the  one  and  spent  the  other.     Is 
my  name  of  any  service  to  you  ? 

Don  J. 

1  thank  you,  no.     I  had  hoped  you  would  have  done 
great  things,  Don  Caesar. 

Don  C. 

So  I  have ;  if  you  doubt  me,  ask  my  creditors. 

Don  J. 

I  thought  your  father  paid  your  debts  when  you  quitted 
Salamanca. 


DON    C.LSAR    D£    BAZAN.  1 5 

Don  C. 

So  he  did,  worthy  soul !  so  he  did ;  but  then,  from  the 
force  of  habit,  I  acquired  new  ones. 

Don  J. 
You  have  paid  somewhat  dearly  for  a  life  of  pleasure. 

Don  C. 

Possibly;  though  1  have  freed  myself  now  from  all 
anxieties.  I  've  no  money,  so  I  am  not  teazed  by  poor 
relations.  I  've  no  lands,  so  am  without  grumbling  tenantry. 
I  've  no  particular  destination,  so  never  take  a  wrong  turn- 
ing. I  've  nothing  to  support  but  my  sword  [Points  to  broken 
scabbard \,  and  that  keeps  a  sharp  look  out  for  itself. 

Don  J. 
Why  have  you  visited  Madrid  ? 

Don  C.  [Tenderly. 

Madrid  !  my  native  city  !  why  have  I  revisited  thee  ? 
But  for  the  hope,  Don  Jose,  the  sweet,  though  foolish  hope, 
that  I  should  there  find  I  had  lost  all,  ay,  all [Pauses. 

Don  J. 
Your  follies  ? 

Don  C. 

No,  all  my  creditors;  but  I  was  deceived;  creditors 
never  die — their  number  is  increased. 

Don  J. 
Indeed !  how  ? 

Don  C. 

Most  of  them  have  children ;  creditors  will  have  chil- 
dren, heirs  to  their  ledgers ;  and  the  amount  of  my  debts 
will  mingle  with  their  earliest  recollections. 


1 6  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  J. 
What  plans  have  you  got  for  profit  ? 

Don  C. 

None.  [Shows  empty  pockets. 

I  've  not  wherewithal  to  make  stakes  with  a  street 
beggar. 

Don  J. 
Your  enjoyments,  then,  will  be  few ;  for  pleasure  is  costly. 

Don  C. 

Hem !  I  must  content  me  with  what  I  can  get ;  a  brisk 
quarrel  is  easily  procured ;  so  I  will  amuse  myself  with 
fighting. 

Don  J. 

There,  too,  fortune  is  against  you. 

Don  C. 
How? 

Don  J. 

The  carnival  week  commences  to-day ;  and  the  king  has 
issued  an  edict  making  it  death  to  engage  in  a  duel. 

Don  C. 

What !  death  for  the  thrust  of  a  sword  ?  How  human 
nature  has  degenerated ! 

Don  J. 

Nay,  the  restriction  is  but  for  one  week,  the  carnival 
week ;  you  will  have  the  rest  of  the  year  to  enjoy  yourself. 

Don  C. 

A  whole  week !  't  is  hard  for  one  who  has  nothing  but 
a  hot  temper  to  warm  his  thin  blood;  but  you  who  are — 
by  the  bye,  Don  Jose,  what  are  you  ? 


DON    C7ESAR    DE    BAZAN.  I  7 

Don  J. 

I  —  I  am  nothing. 

Don  C. 

Nothing !  then  we  are  still  on  an  equality. 

[Enter  Lazarillo  and  Pacolo,  a  water  carrier,  L.  2.  E. 

Pac. 

Nay,  Signor  Lazarillo,  do  not  spurn  my  good  offices; 
you  have  been  cruelly  used,  that 's  the  truth  on  't. 

Laza. 

Thank  you,  comrade,  thank  you.  Think  me  not  proud 
or  ungrateful ;  I  have  but  one  desire,  and  that  is  —  to  die. 

Don  C. 
To  die  before  your  beard  grows  ? 

Pac. 

Ay,  sir,  he  would  drown  himself. 

Don  C. 

How !  drown  ?  In  water  ?  Exchange  this  bright  and 
lovely  earth  for  muddy  water !  The  thought  on  't  gives 
one  the  ague;  at  your  age  to  wish  for  death!  you — you 
can't  be  plagued  by  creditors  ! 

Laza. 

No,  signor ;  I  am  an  apprentice  to  the  armourer  who 
has  in  charge  the  arquebusses  of  the  royal  guards. 

Don  C. 

Well,  that 's  no  reason  that  you  should  drown  yourself. 


1 8  DON    C/ESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Laza. 

No,  signer;  but  this  morning,  under  the  pretext  that  the 
arms  were  neglected,  the  captain  ordered  me  to  receive 
fifty  lashes. 

Don  C.  [Indignantly. 

Fifty ! 

Laza. 

It  was  not  the  number,  signor ;  I  do  not  mind  suffering, 
but  one  blow  is  too  much  to  bear. 

Don  C.      [Crosses  to  Don  Jose  r. 

The  boy  is  a  true  Spaniard ;  [Familiarly. 

We  —  we  must  speak  in  his  favour,  Don  Jose. 

Laza. 
My  lieutenant  interceded  for  me,  but  in  vain,  signor. 

Don  C. 

Possibly ;  but  he  will  not  refuse  the  request  of  such  noble 
advocates  as  ourselves  [Leaning  on  Don  Jose's  shoulder], 
Don  Jose. 

Don  J. 

Pardon  me  [Moving  away  from  Don  C&sar] ;  but  at 
present,  there  are  reasons  for  my  non-interference. 

Don  C. 

O,  very  well !  then  the  boy  must  be  dependent  upon  my 
influence  alone. 

[Drum  within.      Exit  Pacolo  l.  2.  E.     Footsteps 
heard. 

Laza.  [Looks  off l.  u.  e. 

Ah  !  I  am  pursued  !  I  shall  be  again  degraded.     [Going. 

Don  C. 
Stay  !  place  yourself  behind  me  ;  we  will  defend  you. 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAN.  19 

Don  J. 
We! 

Don  C. 

Yes,  Don  Caesar  and  his  sword !  [About  to  draw. 

Don  J. 
You  forget  the  royal  edict. 

Don  C. 
The 


[About  to  utter  an  imprecation  —  removes  his  hat. 
But  it  is  the  carnival  week. 

[Drum.     March.    Enter  Captain  and  Soldiers  L. 
u.  E.      They  come  down  to  L. 

Cap. 
There  is  your  prisoner,  secure  him.   [Points  to  Lazarillo. 

Don  C.  [Interfering,  humbly. 

One  moment,  captain;  allow  me,  suffer  me,  to  hum- 
bly intercede  for  this  young  delinquent. 

Cap. 

[  To  Soldiers,  who  pause,  and  not  regarding  Don 
Casar. 
Soldiers  !  why  do  you  pause  ?         [  The  Soldiers  advance. 

Laza. 
O,  mercy  !  captain,  mercy  ! 

Don  C 

You  do  not  hear  him,  captain ;  the  poor  lad  sues  for 
mercy.  Let  me  [Removing  hat]  join  with  him  in  suppli- 
cating pardon. 


20  DON    CMiSAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Cap.  [  To  Lazarillo. 

Back  to  your  duty,  sirrah  !  I  heed  neither  your  tears 
nor  the  mouthings  of  this  sottish  mummer. 

Don  C.  [Indignantly. 

What !  [Recollecting  himself. 

That  cursed  edict !     O,  if  it  were  not  the  hanging  week ! 

[  Calmly. 

But,  captain,  if  he  returns,  no  blows;  see,  tears  !  they  are 

not  easily  wrung  from  so  brave  a  heart.     Pardon,  captain. 

[Detains  him  by  the  cloak. 

Cap.  [Snatching  it  away. 

Unhand  me! 

Don  C.  [Indignantly. 

Dare  [Recollecting. 

O,  that  edict !  that  cursed  edict ! 

Don  J. 
[Aside  to  Don  Casar,  c,  and  going  up. 
Hard  words,  Don  Caesar. 

Don  C.  [To  Captain. 

One  word  more.  You  are  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier; 
so  am  I ;  I  have  pledged  my  honour  to  protect  this  boy, 
you  understand. 

Cap. 
You  have  my  answer. 

Don  C. 
No  :  what  I  solicited  in  vain,  I  must  now  compel. 

Cap. 
Insolent ! 

Don  C. 

Enough.  In  spite  of  the  royal  edict,  I  must  have  the 
amende,  my  noble  captain. 


DON    CAESAR    DE    BAZAN.  21 

Cap. 
How? 

Don  C. 

How  !  with  my  sword,  which  will  ennoble  yours  by  the 
contact.  I  am  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  {Replacing  his  hat\ ; 
Count  de  Garofa,  possessing  the  right  to  remain  covered 
in  the  presence  of  the  king.  I  have  sued  to  you,  humbly 
sued  to  you,  and  you  have  insulted  me;  and  the  royal 
edict  — 

[Checks  himself  and  draws  sword. 

Cap. 
A  challenge ! 

Don  C. 

Yes,  which  you  will  accept,  if  you  have  either  honour  or 
courage. 

Cap. 
You  shall  not  doubt  it. 

[Captain  motions  Soldiers  to  retire ;  they  go  off 
L.  u.  E.      Captain  retires  up.     Exit  Don  Jose. 

Laza. 
You  fight  for  me ;  O,  no  !     I  will  return,  Don  Csesar. 

Don  C. 

You  shall,  my  gallant  lad,  to  your  lieutenant,  who 
would  have  spared  you  the  ignominy  of  a  blow :  be 
patient,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  will  make  him  a  captain. 

[Don  Ccesar  and  Captain  fight.  Populace  rush  in, 
murmuring.  Captain  is  wounded  and  falls. 
Enter  Soldiers  and  Alguazils.  The  latter  arrest 
Don  Cozsar.     Scene  changes. 


22  DON    OESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

ibtznt  H>ecotilJ. — A  Street  in  Madrid.  [First  Grooves.] 

[Enter  and  cross  over  the  stage  the  Alguazils  and 
Soldiers,  conducting  Don  Ccesar .-  Lazarillo  fol- 
lows. Then  come  Gypsies,  &c,  singing  "  Ah, 
ha,  ha,  the  ragged  cavalier.'1''  After  they  have 
gone  out,  enter  Don  Jose  l.  i.  e. 

Don.  J. 

My  plans  will  soon  have  a  happy  consummation ;  the 
edict  enforced,  Don  Caesar's  reckless  nature  will  make  him 
the  easy  means  of  Maritana's  advancement.  Ah  !  here 
comes  the  fair  enslaver  of  the  king. 

[Enter  Maritana  l.  i.  e.  ;  she  wears  a  scarf  of 
gaudy  colors. 

Marit. 

Again  the  queen  has  smiled  upon  me.  It  is  no  idle 
phantasy  that  fills  my  brain;  some  lucky  accident  may 
place  me  at  the  height  of  my  ambition.       [Sees  Don  Jose. 

Ah !  signor. 

Don.  J. 

I  would  fain  know  what  pleasant  thoughts  gave  birth  to 
such  bright  smiles,  Maritana. 

Marit. 

The  queen,  signor,  the  queen!  —  You  see  I  have  not 
been  a  niggard  of  your  gift.  [Shows  scarf 

Don  J. 

And  you  think  yourself  rich  in  the  possession  of  such  a 
trifle.  Confide  in  me,  and  ere  long  the  gayest  lady  of  the 
court  shall  yield  to  you  in  splendour. 

Marit. 

I  dare  not  listen  to  you.  I  dare  not  trust  the  longing 
of  my  heart. 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAN.  23 

Don  J. 

Wherefore  ? 

Marii. 

My  roving  life  has  taught  me  truths  beyond  the  com- 
mon experience  of  my  years.  I  have  seen  the  rich  man's 
idol  of  to-day  the  outcast  of  to-morrow.  No,  no,  my 
destiny  is  known  to  me.  [Mournfully. 

Don  J, 

You  do  not  believe  your  own  prophecies ;  you  may  gull 
the  dullards  who  bribe  you  to  promise  fortune,  but  know 
yourself  the  cheat.  I  will  show  you  my  skill  in  palmistry 
[Takes  her  hand] :  to-morrow  you  shall  be  a  countess. 

Marit.  [Delighted. 

A  countess  !  [Pauses. 

A  countess  but  in  name. 

Don  J. 

Nay,  by  right  of  honourable  alliance.  You  know  me 
not,  or  you  would  not  doubt  my  power  to  realize  the 
hopes  I  have  awakened.  You  rescued  but  now  a  stranger 
from  the  extortions  of  your  band. 

Marit. 

Yes,  yes ;  he  saved  me  from  insult,  I  but  repaid  the 
debt  I  owed  him. 

Don  J. 

Though  now  a  ruined  spendthrift,  he  is  of  noble  lineage. 
He  loves  you,  Maritana. 

Marit.  [Appears  affected 

Indeed !  signor. 

Don  J. 

I  have  promised  to  be  his  advocate ;  should  you  con- 
sent to  share  his  name  and  fortunes,  I  will  restore  him  to 
position. 

Marit. 

Have  you  the  power  ? 


24  DON    C/ESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Don.  J. 

Don  Jose,  the  favourite  minister  of  Charles  of  Spain, 
could  do  much  more. 

Marit. 

And  you  are 

Don  J. 

Don  Jose,  commissioned  by  the  queen  to  raise  Maritana 
to  the  rank  she  covets. 

Marit. 

Indeed  !  then  I  have  not  dreamed  ;  I  have  not  trusted 
to  phantom  hopes. 

Don  J. 

Before  to-morrow,  I  will  prove  their  reality. 

[Exeunt  r.  i.  e.     Clock  c/iimes,  and  strikes  Jive. 
Scene  changes. 


f  Madrid.     A  Prison  ;  Doors  r.  and  l. 

&         fTThirTi    J      Clock  c.    A  Table  and  two  Stools. 
as>«rnc  winro.  <      Dqn    Cmsar    and     Lazarillo    dis. 

(_        COVERED. 

Laza. 

Arrested,  tried,  and  condemned,  all  within  an  hour ;  he 
has  but  two  hours  to  live  ! 

Don  C.  [Looking  at  clock. 

Two  hours  more;  how  the  deuce  am  I  to  pass  my  time? 
I  shall  die  of  ennui.  [  Takes  a  stool  and  sits  l.  c. 

Come  hither,  lad.        [Lazarillo  sits  at  Don  Caisar 's  feet. 

If  you  were  in  my  place,  and  had  a  couple  of  hours  before 
you,  how  would  you  employ  them  ? 


DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN.  25 

Laza. 
In  recalling  the  errors  of  my  past  life. 

Don  C. 

What,  in  two  hours  ?  You  must  be  very  ignorant  of 
my  biography.  Recall  my  past  errors  —  no,  there  is  no 
time  for  that.  I  '11  make  my  will ;  no,  that  would  not 
consume  two  minutes. 

Laza. 

[  Taking  his  hand  and  sobbing. 

O,  signor !  I  have  been  the  cause  of  this ;  it  is  for  me 
you  are  about  to  die.  Is  there  no  .service  by  which  I 
can  show  my  regret,  my  gratitude  ? 

Don  C. 
Yes,  you  can  oblige  me  materially. 

Laza. 
O,  how  ?  say  how  !  [  Clinging  to  his  hand. 

Don  C. 

By  showing  a  little  more  regard  for  my  lace  ruffle ;  see 
how  you  've  torn  it ! 

Laza. 

Alas !  Is  there  no  one  to  entreat  your  pardon  from  the 
king  ?     No  one  has  yet  pleaded  for  you. 

Don  C. 

Nay,  boy,  all  are  not  so  indifferent  to  my  fate.  There 
was  one  venerable  old  man  who  threw  himself  in  the 
path  of  the  king,  regardless  of  the  wheels  of  the  royal 
carriage,  or  the  hoofs  of  the  royal  mules;  he  stretched 
forth  his  trembling  hands,  while  tears  bedewed  his  aged 
cheeks,  and,  in  accents  broken  by  emotion,  he  implored 
"  Pardon,  pardon,  for  Don  Caesar ! " 


26  DON    C7ESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Laza. 
Ah  !  \\  was  the  old  count,  your  father ! 

Don  C. 

No :  it  was  one  of  my  creditors  :  see  how  wrong  you 
were. 

Laza. 

But,  of  all  your  noble  friends  and  companions  not  one 
has  come  to  visit  you. 

Don  C 

A  mark  of  their  good  feeling,  Lazarillo  [Don  Jose  enters  R.] ; 
to  see  me  in  my  present  position  would  be  more  than  they 
could  bear  ;  so  out  of  kindness  they  keep  away. 

Don  J.  [  Coming  down  r. 

Excepting  me. 

Don  C.  [Rising. 

Don  Jose ! 

[At  a  sign  from  Don  Jose,  Lazarillo  goes  out  R. 

Don  J. 

You  seem  surprised ;  you  wrong  me ;  I  was  always 
your  friend ;  and  do  I  not  prove  my  sincerity  by  coming 
to  you  when  all  is  over  ? 

Don  C. 

If  your  friendship  was  to  be  of  any  practical  service, 
you  might  have  made  your  visit  a  little  earlier ;  but  I  con- 
fess if  I  had  looked  for  sympathy  yours  would  have  been 
the  last  I  should  have  expected. 

Don  J. 

I  may  yet  be  in  time  to  serve  you  ;  you  have  but  two 
hours  to  live.  [Clock  strikes  the  quarter. 


DON    CvtSAR    DE    BAZAN.  27 

Don  C. 

I  beg  your  pardon  [Looking  at  clock,  which  now  marks  a 
quarter  past  Jive],  it  is  an  hour  and  three  quarters ;  the  error 
is  of  no  consequence,  but  we  may  as  well  be  right  when  we 
can,  for  life  is  very  short. 

Don  J. 

Yours  may  be  long  enough  to  enable  us  to  understand 
each  other.     Come :  let  us  sit,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you. 

Don  C. 
With  pleasure,  for  my  time  is  all  your  own.      [  They  sit. 

Don  J. 

Well,  then,  Don  Caesar 

Don  C. 
Well,  Don  Jose. 

Don  J. 

If  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  grant  any  demand,  what 
Vvould  be  your  dying  request  ? 

Don  C. 

My  dying  request  ?  to  live,  to  be  sure. 

Don  J. 

As  the  king's  favourite  minister,  and  as  your  friend,  if 
you  will  accept  the  conditions  I  am  about  to  propose,  I 
swear  to  grant  whatever  you  ask,  always  excepting  life  — 
that  I  cannot  promise. 

Don  C. 

It  's  awkward,  as  that  happens  to  be  almost  the  only 
thing  I  'm  likely  shortly  to  want. 

Don  J. 

Is  there  nothing  else  ? 


28  DON    CAESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C. 

Nothing — stay,  you  saw  a  boy,  did  you  not,  as  you 
entered  ? 

Don  J. 

The  one  to  whom  you  owe  your  present  position  ? 

Don  C. 

Yes :  I  believe  I  do  owe  him  that.  But,  I  owe  some- 
thing to  everybody.  I  should  not  like  him  to  be  at  the 
mercy  of  the  world  when  I  am  gone ;  will  you  assist  him  ? 

Don  J. 
Yes,  I  will  provide  for  him. 

Don  C. 

That  is  kind:  I  will  pay  you  beforehand — with  a 
thousand  thanks. 

Don  J. 

Have  you  nothing  else  to  ask  ?  consider. 

Don  C. 
Hum,  no,  I  think  that 's  all. 

Don.  J.  [Aside. 

He  will  never  accede  to  my  plan,  for  such  a  trifling 
recompense.  [Aloud. 

Don  Caesar,  have  you  thought  of  the  manner  of  your 
death  ? 

Don  C. 

Yes !  I  know  all  [Rises] ;  a  rope  !  would  that  death 
came  by  sword  or  arquebuss ;  but  a  rope !  Yes,  I  think  I 
have  one  request,  Don  Jose. 

Don  J. 

Name  it.  [Rises. 


DON    CAESAR    DE    BAZAN.  29 

Don  C. 

I  would  bequeath  the  gallows  to  my  creditors ;  but  let 
me  be  dispatched  by  the  arquebusses  of  a  dozen  brave 
fellows ;  in  short,  let  me  die  like  a  gentleman. 

Don  J. 

You  shall  have  your  wish. 

Don  C. 

You  will  not  deceive  ? 

Don  J. 

I  swear  it,  on  the  honour  of  a  soldier. 

Don.  C. 

You  give  me  new  life ;  that  is  to  say,  you  have  taken 
away  half  the  inconvenience  of  death,  if  I  receive  it  at 
the  hands  of  brave  men.  I  should  like  to  drink  with  the 
worthy  fellows. 

Don  J. 

Drink  with  them  !    You,  the  Count  de  Bazan  ? 

Don  C. 

I've  drunk  in  worse  company  ere  this;  besides,  if  I  am 
their  superior  now,  they  will  soon  have  the  advantage  of 
me.     You  promised  to  grant  my  wish. 

Don  J. 

And  I  will :  a  banquet  shall  be  prepared  for  you,  that 
shall  recall  the  revels  of  past  times.     Is  that  all  ? 

Don  C. 

Yes,  that 's  all ;  and  now  for  your  conditions :  what  do 
you  require  of  me  ?  [Both  sit. 

Don  J. 

Not  much  for  a  man  in  your  position.  I  simply  require 
you  to  marry.      [Clock,  now  at  half -past  Jive,  strikes  again. 

4 


3<D  DON    C7ESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C. 

Hum  !  to  marry  !  I  don't  see  the  use  of  that.  What 
can  be  the  good  of  it  for  an  hour  and  a  half? 

Don  J. 

Thai  is  a  mystery. 

Don  C. 

A  mystery,  indeed  !  It  can't  be  for  my  fortune,  because 
I  have  nothing  to  leave,  except  my  debts  and  my  name. 
Ah,  my  name  has  still  some  value.  I  see  it  all;  some 
woman  wishes  to  be  called  a  countess  —  is  it  not  so  ? 

Don  J. 
It  may  be. 

Don  C. 

Well,  she  shall  have  it.  It  is  nothing  to  me.  I  want 
to  fill  up  my  time :  marriage  is  an  occupation,  and  one 
may  be  as  good  as  another ;  it 's  for  so  short  a  time,  we 
can't  have  many  matrimonial  differences. 

Don  J. 
You  agree  to  confer  the  title  of  Countess  de  Garofa. 

Don  C. 

Together  with  my  interest  in  the  county  of  Garofa,  if 
you  can  find  I  have  any  remaining.  But,  by  the  by, 
what  's  my  wife's  name  ?  is  she  young  and  pretty  ? 

Don  J. 
You  must  not  ask  me. 

Don  C. 

Ah,  I  understand.  I'll  wager  my  life  [Rises]  —  no, 
by  the  by,  that's  not  mine  —  but  the  lady  is  at  least 
fifty!  No  matter!  —  the  bargain's  struck,  and  I  'II  marry 
with  my  eyes  shut. 


DON    C/ESAR    DE    BAZAN.  3 1 

Don  J. 

You  need  not  do  that ;  a  thick  veil  will  so  effectually 
shut  out  your  face,  that  it  will  be  unseen  by  the  lady. 

Don  C.  [Rises. 

Thank  you  for  your  delicate  consideration  —  it  will 
spare  me  from  perceiving  the  full  extent  of  my  sacrifice ; 
and  the  lady  the  pain  of  observing  the  condition  of  the 
bridegroom. 

Don  J. 

Your  attire  is  hardly  suitable  to  a  wedding. 

Don  C. 

It  is  my  travelling  dress,  somewhat  frayed  and  stained : 
I  wear  it  as  the  last  gift  of  my  tailor. 

Don  J.  [Rises. 

1  have  taken  care  to  provide  a  costume  more  fitted  for 
the  occasion ;  and  in  the  adjoining  apartment  you  will 
find  all  prepared. 

Don  C. 

Do  as  you  please ;  I  am  at  your  disnosal.     Deck  me  as 

gaily  as  you  will ;  crown  me  with  roses,  ere  you  lead  me 

to  the  altar ;  I  shall  then  seem  more  fitted  for  the  sacrifice. 

[Exit  L.  2 .  E.    Clock  strikes  —  now  at  a  quarter  to  six. 

Don  J. 

Ordinary  diplomatists  would  let  that  man  be  hanged, 
and  make  no  use  of  him.  By  superior  tact,  I  shall  make 
him  subject  to  the  attainment  of  my  fondest  wishes.  [Calls. 

Ho  !  Pedro  !  [Pedro  enters  r. 

Let  a  banquet  be  prepared  in  this  apartment  immediately ; 
send  Lazarillo  to  me;  the  boy  in  attendance  on  the  prisoner. 

\Exit  Pedro  r.  2.  E. 

At  length,  my  fair  Maritana,  my  prediction  is  about  to  he 
fulfilled ;  this  step  will  bring  you  nearer  to  the  kuu*.    Tho** 


32  DON    C7ESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

is  now  no  barrier  but  this  ruined  spendthrift.  The  task  to 
win  Maritana  was  more  difficult  than  I  anticipated,  but 
the  name  of  the  queen  at  last  achieved  my  triumph. 

[E)iter  Lazarillo  R.  u.  E. 
Laza. 

You  sent  for  me,  signor. 

Don  J. 

Yes.  Come  near  me,  my  good  lad.  Are  your  parents 
living  ? 

Laza. 
Alas,  sir,  no. 

Don  J. 

What  friends  have  you  ? 

Laza. 

None — at  least  but  one,  and  he  is  condemned  to  die 
to-day,  and  for  me  —  for  me. 

Don  J. 

You  mean  Don  Caesar ;  he  is,  indeed,  your  friend.  At 
his  request  I  have  promised  to  take  you  at  once  into  my 
service. 

Laza. 

At  once  !  O,  sir,  while  Don  Caesar  lives,  let  me  tender 
him  my  unworthy  service. 

Don  J.  [Aside. 

Faithful  boy !  he  is  one  that  may  be  trusted.        [Aloud. 
Be  it  so ;  to-morrow,  then,  you  will  form  a  part  of  my 
household. 

Laza. 

And  to-morrow  I  shall  be  devoted  to  your  service  as 
truly  as  I  am  to  Don  Caesar  to-day. 


DON    C.KSAR    DE    RAZAN.  33 

Don  ./. 

Go,  then,  and  send  hither  the  soldiers  that  Don  Caesar 
has  invited  as  guests. 

[  Chime.  Clock  strikes  six.  Lazarillo  bows  and 
goes  out  r.  2.  e. 

Don  J. 

[  Taking  some  papers  from  his  pocket. 

Hem  !  a  pardon  for  Don  Caesar.  Poor  Charles !  It  is 
as  well  that  he  should  do  an  occasional  good  action,  par- 
ticularly when  his  minister  has  the  credit  of  it.  A  subject 
is  condemned  to  death  —  the  king's  heart  is  touched  —  of 
course,  on  the  advice  of  his  minister — a  pardon  is  signed, 
of  course  dictated  by  the  minister.  By — by  one  of  those 
inexplicable  accidents  which  occur — no  one  but  the  min- 
ister knows  how  —  the  pardon  arrives  an  hour  too  late. 
It  is  a  sad  affair!  Don  Caesar  is  to  be  executed  at  seven  — 
the  pardon  will  arrive  at  eight ;  but  king  and  minister  will 
be  blessed  for  the  exercise  of  clemency. 

[Enter  Lazarillo  r.  u.  e. 

Laza.  [Announcing. 

The  guard,  signor. 

[Exit  Don  Jose  l.     Music.     Enter  Soldiers. 

Chorus  of  Soldiers. 

[Banquet  table  and  four  stools  are  brought  on  bv 
Attendants,  during  song.  The  table  is  richly 
spread. 


Comrades !  when  the  martial  drum 

Wakes  us  from  our  slumbers, 
And  leaders  cry,   "The  foe  —  they  come!" 
We  charge,  nor  fear  their  numbers. 
For  then  our  path,  tho'  gory, 
Is  still  the  way  to  glory. 
Comrades,  who  could  fear,  etc. 


34  DON    C7ESAR    DE    BA2AN. 

Comrades  !  when  the  muffled  drum 

Sounds  to  mar  our  gladness, 
And  tells  some  mortal's  hour  is  come, 
Our  hearts  are  filled  with  sadness. 
Though  his  death  be  gory, 
It  has  no  ray  of  glory,  etc.,  etc. 

[  Clock  at  6.15.     At  end  of  song  Don  Ccesar  enters, 
richly  dressed.      Re-enter  Don  Jose. 

Don  C. 

Well,  Don  Jose,  are  velvet  and  gold  thrown  away  upon 
me  ?     How  do  they  become  me  ? 

Don  J. 

Famously.  See,  the  banquet  is  prepared,  and  the  guests 
are  assembled. 

Do?i  C. 

Ah !  wine  and  gold !  The  pleasures  of  my  past  life 
seem  to  be  brought  back  to  me !  Everything  but  lovely 
woman.  _  Woman  —  that  word  reminds  me  of  my  approach- 
ing marriage. 

Don  J. 

True ;  time  wears.  In  a  few  minutes  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  presenting  you  to  your  bride.        [Exit  r.  u.  e. 

Don  C.  [To  Soldiers. 

Now,  friends,  fall  to.  [Glances  at  clock. 

I  am  compelled,  by  an  appointment  of  some  moment,  to 
limit  our  revel.  f  They  all  sit,  and  Jill  their  glasses. 

Ah!  wine!  my  old  and  early  friend,  [/-folding  up  his  glass.} 
'T  is  long  since  you  and  I  have  met.  Pretenders  to  thy 
name  have  often  wooed  and  won  me,  but  thou  art  the 
true  descendant  of  the  vine.  Thy  rich  breath  floats  about 
my  nostrils,  and  tempts  me  to  embrace  thee.  Now,  com- 
rades, fill  —  each  to  the  brim  —  and  pledge  me  to  the 
health  of  the  Countess  de  Bazan! 


DON    CAESAR    DE    BAZAN.  35 

All. 

The  Countess  de  Bazan  !  [All  rise. 

Don  C. 

The  Countess  de  Bazan  and  her  happy  widowhood. 

\D  rinks. 
Music  alone  should  sound  the  requiem  of  such  a  draught. 
Come;  the  song! 

[A  suitable  drinking  song  is  introduced  here. 
[  Clock  strikes  for  half -past  six.     Enter  Lopez. 

Lopez.  [Announcing. 

My  lord,  the  judge  ! 

Don  C. 

Indeed  !  admit  him,  by  all  means.  [Music. 

[Exit  Lopez. —  The  Judge  and  four  Alguazils  enter, 
R.  Soldiers  rise.  Don  Ccesar  bows  to  Judge, 
with  great  respect. 

Judge.  [Readvig  from  paper. 

Don  Caesar  de  Bazan.  "  The  king  graciously  accords 
to  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan,  Count  de  Garofa,  his  royal 
mercy ;  the  Count  will  not  suffer  by  the  hands  of  the  com- 
mon executioner, —  his  Majesty  having  been  graciously 
pleased  to  command  that  Don  Caesar  shall  be  led  into 
the  barrack  yard,  and  there  shot  by  a  detachment  of  the 
royal  guard." 

[  The  Judge  gives  paper  to  the  Officer,  and  retires 
solemnly.  Don  Ccesar  offers  him  zaine,  which 
he  haughtily  declines.  All  laugh  as  Judge  goes 
out  r.  u.  E. 

Don  C.        [Sitting  unconcernedly. 

Now,  comrades,  we  've  just  time  for  the  other  verse. 

[Another  stanza  is  sung.  Clock  strikes  6.45. 
Lazarillo,  during  the  singing,  carries  off  the  guns, 
and  returns  with  them  before  its  close. 


36  DON    CAESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Soldiers. 

Don  Caesar  de  Bazan ! 

[All  rise  and  drink.      Organ  heard. 

-Don  C.  [Rising. 

My  wife  !  [To  the  Soldiers. 

It  is  the  Countess  de  Bazan. 

[Clock  now  ten  minutes  to  seven.  The  Soldiers 
rise  from  table.  Don  Jose  enters,  leading  in 
Montana,  closely  veiled.  The  Soldiers  take  their 
guns,  salute  Don  Jose  and  Maritana,  and  go 
out  r.  u.  E. 

Don  J.         [Aside  to  Don  Ccesar. 

Not  a  word,  not  a  look. 

Don  C. 

A  look  would  be  vain  indeed  !     'T  would  be  a  piercing 
glance  that  could  penetrate  that  veil. 

Don  J. 
Don  Caesar,  your  bride  waits  your  hand. 

Don  C.  [  Takes  her  hand. 

It 's  tolerably  soft,  and  gives  me  some  curiosity  to  know 
if  so  small  a  hand  belongs  to  a  wrinkled  face. 

[Tries  to  look  through  the  veil. 
I  never  saw  a  woman  so  muffled,  in  my  life. 

[Don  Jose  points  to  clock — aside. 
True,  what  matter  ?  but  ten  minutes  more. 

[Aloud  and  gallantly. 
Madam,  to  you  I  devote  the  rest  of  my  existence. 

[Organ  music.  Don  Ccvsar  leads  Maritana  out 
l.  u.  E. 

Don  J.  [  To  Lazarillo. 

Admit  the  Marquis  de  Rotondo  and  his  wife. 

[Exit  Don  Jose,  following  Don  Casar.  Enter  the 
Marquis  and  Marchioness  de  Rotondo  R.  U.  E. 
The  Marquis  and  Marchioness  look  about  them 
with  an  air  of  amazement ;  they  then  meet  face 
to  face,  and  look  at  each  other. 


DON    Ci.bAR    DE    BAZAN.  37 

Marq. 
Where  on  earth  can  we  be  ? 

March. 
Is  it  a  prison  ? 

Marq. 
A  prison  !  [Looking  round. 

No,  it  can't  be  a  prison,  for  this  is  n't  prison  fare ;  a 
fricandeau,  or  my  nose  deceives  me. 

March. 
Is  it  a  monastery  ? 

Marq. 

Ah  !  it 's  more  like  a  monastery. 

[  Taking  up  a  bottle  of  wine  and  looking  at  it. 
Some  wine  still  left !     Then  it 's  not  a  monastery  ;  your 
true  monk  would  n't  leave  enough  to  drown   a  thirsty 
spider. 

March. 
What  place  can  it  be  ? 

Marq. 

No  matter,  dearest,  we  have  done  as  Don  Jose  desired 
us,  and  that  is  enough ;  he  told  us  to  get  into  a  carriage, 
and  we  did ;  he  said  we  should  be  taken  somewhere,  and 
we  are  taken  somewhere. 

March. 

That 's  all  very  well ;  but  why  are  you  the  mere  puppet  of 
Don  Jose  ?  You  can  do  nothing  without  him  ;  all  you 
possess  seems  to  be  at  the  disposal  of  Don  Jose. 

Marq. 

Madam,  do  not  despise  that  sacred  sentiment  which 
goes  by  the  euphonious  name  of  gratitude  !  What  were 
we  until  we  knew  Don  Jose  ?  I  rich,  but  obscure ;  you 
lovely,  but  unappreciated  ;  my  merits  were  undiscovered, 

5 


38  DON   CAESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

your  beauty  nobody  could  ever  see.  Was  it  not  Don  Jose 
who  got  me  the  appointment  of  governor  general  of  his 
majesty's  poultry  ? — aviary,  I  mean. 

[Clock  five  minutes  to  sever- 

March. 
What  has  a  marquis  to  do  with  hatching  turkeys  ? 

Marg. 

Marchioness,  speak  more  reverently  of  incubation.  Fo* 
the  honour  Don  Jose  conferred  on  me,  I  have  sworn  to 
devote  myself  to  the  wishes  of  Don  Jose,  and  to  comply 
with  all,  however  incomprehensible  he  may  appear. 

March. 

But  this  blind  obedience  might  affect  your  honour;  it 

might  affect  mine. 

Marg. 

Your  honour !  Let  any  one  attack  your  honour,  and 
this  good  sword,  rusting  in  honourable  repose,  will  leap 
from  its  scabbard.  Who  has  assailed  my  beautiful,  my 
best? 

March. 

Who  would  have  dared  —  who  would  have  looked  me 
in  the  face  and  spoken  of  love  ? 

Marg. 

Ah  !  you  are  ever  the  best  protectress  of  your  beauty. 
Time  treads  upon  your  cheek  without  leaving  a  wrinkle  ; 
that  face  can  never  lose  its  charms  ;  your  beauty  's  still 
the  theme  of  all  who  share  my  dinners  and  my  wine;  how 
they  have  praised  your  youthful  air  for  the  last  thirty 
years  !  [Kisses  her. 

March. 

Fie !  some  one  is  coming :  now,  perhaps,  we  shall  dis- 
cover where  we  are. 

[Enter  Dor.  Jose,  leading  Mart  tana,  L.  u.  E, 


DON    C7KSAK    DE    BAZAN.  39 

Don  J. 

I  wish  you  joy,  marquis.  [Marquis  bows. 

You  had  better  now  return  to  your  palace  at  Saint  Fer- 
nando, with  the  Countess  de  Bazan,  your  niece. 

[Passes  Marilana  across  to  R.  c. 

Marq.  [Aside. 

My  niece  ? 

March.  [Aside. 

What  does  all  this  mean  ? 

[Clock  chimes  the  hour ;  then  begins  to  strike  seven. 

Don  J. 
You  will  return  with  your  niece,  whom  you  have  not 
seen  for  the  lastyfw  years. 

Marq. 

Five  years  !  yes,  I  think  it  rather  longer  than  that.  Shall 
I  have  the  honour  of  receiving  my  nephew  the  count,  the 
lady's  husband  ? 

Don  J. 

The  lady's  husband  is 

[Seventh  stroke  of  the  bell.     Loud  volley  0/ mus- 
ketry outside. 

Matit.  [Starts. 

What 's  that  ? 

Don  J. 

Hum  !  nothing. 

Farewell,  Don  Caesar  !  [Aside. 

[Tableau  —  distant  drum  and  trumpet. 


CURTAIN. 


%tt  ^CfOttit. 


ibttnt  liv&t.  < 


{  Madrid.  Summer  Pavilion  in  the  Pal- 
ace of  the  Marquis  de  Rotondo. 
Maritana,  seated  ;  Don  Jose,  stand- 
ing    NEAR     HER;      THE     MaRQUIS    AND 

Marchioness  de  Rotondo,  paying 
Attention  to  their  various  Guests, 
discovered.  also,  lords  and  ladies 
Promenading. 


ist  Cav.  [  To  Marquis. 

Upon  my  honour,  marquis,  I  never  saw  the  marchioness 
looking  so  well. 

2nd  Cav. 
And  so  youthful. 

March. 

Really,  gentlemen,  your  compliments  overpower  me. 

Marq.  [Aside. 

How  unanimous  they  all  are  !  [Aloud. 

You  must  really  come  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow  :  I 
want  your  opinion  of  some  wine  of  a  rare  quality,  and  you 
show  so  much  taste  in  other  matters,  that  I  should  value 
your  opinion  very  much.  Women  and  wine,  you  know  — 
a  judge  of  the  one  is  generally  a  judge  of  the  other. 


Don  J. 


Thoughtful  and  musing! 


[Still  gazing  on  Maritana. 
Ah  !  that 's  well ! 


DON    C7ESAR   DE    BAZAN.  41 

Man/.  [G 'oing  up  to  him. 

Well,  my  lord,  do  you  admire  the  fete  ?  The  women 
are  lovely,  are  they  not  ?  By  the  by,  speaking  of  lovely 
women,  have  you  seen  my  marchioness  ?  Your  lordship's 
eyes  seem  fixed  on  —  hem !  my  niece. 

Don  J. 

Yes  ;  how  well  she  sustains  her  new  dignity  !  I  really 
think  that  you  and  I  have  only  rectified  a  little  error  of 
destiny,  in  placing  her  in  the  position  which  is  evidently 
the  one  for  which  nature  intended  her :  what  is  your 
opinion 

Mara. 

My  opinion  is,  that  your  lordship's  opinion  is  my 
opinion,  and  that  you  are  perfectly  right. 

Dan  J. 

Ah,  marquis,  you  are  quite  a  courtier;  your  tact  is 
unrivalled.  How  go  on  his  majesty's  birds,  of  which  you 
are  the  governor  ? 

Mara. 

I  am  proud  to  say  that  since  I  have  been  at  the  head 
of  the  establishment,  the  royal  birds  have  reached  an 
unprecedented  plumpness. 

Dan  J. 

By  the  by,  Don  Carlo  is  seriously  ill,  and  if  his  appoint- 
ment should  become  vacant,  pray  remind  me  of  it. 

Mara. 

O,  this  is  too  much  !  Don  Carlo,  grand  master  of  the 
royal  lap-dogs  !  O,  could  I  ever  aspire  to  such  a  dignity 
— chief  of  the  precious  pets  !  Can  I  be  worthy  of  such  a 
position  ? 


42  DON    C/ESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  J. 

Your  peculiar  talents  design  you  for  the  situation. 

[Pointing  to  Marchioness. 

But,  my  dear  marquis,  do  you  see  those  two  young  tall 

gallants  paying  attention  to  that  lovely  wife  of  yours  ? 

Upon  my  honour,  I  think  she  grows  younger  every  day. 

[He  turns  away  and  approaches  Maritana. 

Marq. 

He,  too,  is  struck  with  the  beauty  of  my  wife;  poor 
young  creature,  she  little  knows  the  havoc  she  is  making 
with  her  charms ! 

Don  J.  [  To  Maritana. 

You  seem  thoughtful ;  are  you  not  pleased  with  the 
fete  ?  There  is  all  that  wealth  and  taste  could  bring  to- 
gether; nothing  is  wanting. 

Marit.  [Partly  aside. 

Nothing  is  wanting  but  one  whose  absence  leaves  a  void 
within  my  heart,  and  makes  me  loathe  the  splendour  which 
surrounds  me. 

[A  Servant  comes  down,  c,  and  speaks  aside  to 
Don  Jose. 

Ser. 

The  person  whom  your  lordship  expected  has  arrived. 

[Goes  up. 
*     Don  J. 
'T  is  well.  [  Aside  to  Marquis. 

Get  rid  of  these  people  at  once. 

Marq.  [Aside. 

At  once !  that 's  rather  unceremonious,  but  it  must  be 
done.  [Aloud. 

Gentlemen,  pray  lead  your  partners  to  the  adjoining 
room ;  there  is  something  provided  there,  which  1  flatter 
myself  will  gratify  and  astonish  you.  [Aside. 

Sandwiches  and  wine  ! 


DON    CAESAR   DE    BAZAN.  43 

[ Music.     All  the  Guests  go  off  l. 

It  was  necessary  to  get  rid  of  them,  as  Don  Jose  desired 
it ;  that  wine  must  do  it. 

\The  Marquis  and  Marchioness  are  about  to  follow 
Guests,  when  Don  Jose  stops  them. 

Don  J. 

The  lovely  countess  had  better  remain  here ;  will  you 
also  oblige  me  by  doing  so,  my  good  host  ? 

Marq. 

Certainly,  it  is  we  that  are  obliged;  I  am  particularly 
obliged. 

Don  J.  [Aside  to  Maritana. 

This  fete  shall  be  complete,  even  "  to  his  presence  whose 
absence  leaves  a  void,  and  makes  this  splendour  nothing." 

[Exit,  leading  Marchioness,  L. 

Marit.  [To  Marquis. 

Did  you  hear  his  lordship's  last  words  ?  You  are  the 
host  —  'tis  you  that  invite  the  guests — will  it  be  as  Don 
Jose  has  promised  ? 

Marq. 

I  dare  say  it  will.  [Aside. 

I  did  not  hear  what  Don  Jose  said,  but  I  think  it  was 
my  duty  nevertheless  to  echo  it. 

Marit. 

What  does  all  this  mean  ?  Why  this  mystery  ?  This 
marriage,  which  I  was  told  was  the  wish  of  the  queen, 
my  gracious  benefactress  ?  If  I  ask  to  see  the  queen,  I 
am  told  to  wait.  If  I  inquire  where  is  the  husband  to 
whom  I  was  so  mysteriously  united  —  whether  he  is  an 
exile,  whether  he  is  alive,  when  he  will  return  —  I  am  told 
to  wait ;  always  the  same  reply.  Tell  me,  marquis,  am  I 
deceived  ?  has  Don  Jose  been  deceiving  me  ? 


44  DON   C/ESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Marq. 

I  hope  not ;  for  if  he  has  deceived  you,  he  is  capable 
of  deceiving  me,  and  my  hopes  with  regard  to  the  royal 
lap-dogs  would  be  blighted  forever ;  but  have  you  never 
seen  your  husband  since  you  married  him  ? 

Marit. 
I  did  not  see  him  then. 

Marq. 

Your  love  must  have  been  particularly  blind. 

Marit. 

Not  so :  it   was  his   generosity  that   I  admired ;   that 

[Enter  Don  Jose  c. 
inspired  in  me  the  strongest  interest  towards  him ;  for 
my  sake  he  has  suffered  much,  perhaps  suffers  now.  I  will 
demand  of  Don  Jose  when  shall  I  see  the  queen  ?  when 
shall  I  see  my  husband  ? 

Don  J.  [  Coming  down  c. 

I  am  glad  I  am  just  in  time  to  answer  the  question, 
lady ;  you  shall  see  your  husband  to-day. 

Marit. 

To-day  ? 

Marq.  [Aside  to  Don  Jose. 

Is  n't  he  dead,  then,  after  all  ? 

Don  J. 

Silence ! 

Marit. 

Surely,  count,  I  must  have  misunderstood  you. 

Don  J. 

Be  calm,  and  listen  to  what  I  am  about  to  say. 


DON    C^iSAR   DE    BAZAN.  45 

Marq. 

Now  I  shall  hear  something — now,  then. 

[He  is  approaching  to  listen,  when  Don  Jose  makes 
a  sign  to  him  to  retire ;  he  does  so,  with  an  air 
0/  disappointment,  and  goes  out  c. 

Marit. 

You  wished  us  to  be  alone ;  now  let  me  hear  of  my 
husband. 

Don  J. 

He  is  at  hand.  [The  King  enters  c.  from  r. 

Don  J. 

He  is  compelled  to  keep  himself  concealed,  being  in 
hourly  danger  from  the  law;  for  your  sake,  and  for  your 
sake  alone,  he  has  ventured  here.  [  Crosses  up  L. 

Marit. 
O,  we  will  find  him  a  place  of  refuge !  where  is  he  ? 

Don  J. 
Here! 

[The  King  advances  and  puts  his  cloak  on  chair. 
Maritana  recoils,  with  an  exclamation. 


King. 
Lady !     Maritana  !     Do  you  not  recollect  me  ? 

Marit.  [Aside. 

He!  [To  Don  Jose. 

That  is  not  my  husband.     He  to  whom  I  gave  my  hand 
was 

Don  J.  [Aside. 

Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  —  behold  him  there  ! 
6 


46  DON    C7ESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Marit. 

No,  no !  I  never  felt  an  interest  but  for  one,  and  he. 
you  told  me,  was  Don  Caesar. 

Don  J. 
I  did  but  deceive  you  for  your  good.  [Goes  up  c. 

Marit. 
O,  wretched  Maritana ! 

King. 

Do  you  not  remember,  in  the  public  place,  one  whose 
eyes  followed  you  wherever  you  moved  ;  one  who,  of  all 
the  multitude  around,  was  alone  charmed  by  the  melan- 
choly of  your  songs  ? 

Marit. 

I  remember  you,  signor.  [Aside. 

For  I  trembled  whilst  I  sought  his  bounty. 

King. 

It  was  because  I  loved  you ;  it  was  because  my  happi- 
ness was  centred  all  in  you,  that  I  determined  to  raise  you 
to  the  station  which  you  coveted.  I  resolved  that  you 
should  share  my  love  and 

Don  J.  [Interrupting. 

But  being  then  proscribed,  Don  Caesar  could  offer  you 
nothing  but  his  name. 

King. 

But  now  we  meet  again  under  happier  influences  ;  give 
me  but  one  word,  one  look,  to  bid  me  hope  for  your  love, 
and  you  shall  be  my  sovereign  mistress.  I  will  live  for 
you,  yes,  for  you  alone.  [Passionately. 

Don  J. 

Don  Caesar,  remember,  some  one  may  overhear. 


DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN.  47 

King. 

Lovely  Maritana,  my  return  must  be  unknown,  but  my 
danger  need  not  separate  me  from  you ;  we  can  be  happy, 
separated  from  the  world.     Let  us  hence  together. 

Marit. 
Together ! 

King. 

A  few  miles  from  Madrid  there  is  a  retreat,  where  love 
may  revel  in  security ;  thither  let  us  fly. 

Don  J.  [Looking  off. 

You  must  not  delay ;  the  guests  will  soon  grow  weary 
of  the  dance. 

King. 

My  Maritana,  come  !     Why  this  ungenerous  hesitation  ? 

Marit.  {Aside. 

O,  heaven  ?  [Aloud. 

But  to  leave  thus  suddenly,  without  even  saying  fare- 
well to  the  marquis. 

-Don  J.  [Aside. 

The  guests  are  returning.  [Aloud. 

Don  Caesar,  the  countess  is  right.  It  might  awaken  sus- 
picion if  she  were  to  quit  the  fete  thus  suddenly.  She  will 
follow  you. 

King. 

A  carriage  will  be  waiting  at  the  door  of  yonder  garden. 
Remember,  your  lover  —  [Don  Jose  looks  at  him\  your  hus- 
band waits  for  you. 

Don  J. 

Some  one  comes  !  quick,  quick,  begone ! 

[Music.  Don  Jose  takes  King's  cloak  from  chair 
and  puts  it  on  him.  Lords  and  Ladies  cross 
from  l.  to  R. 


48  DON    CAESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Marit. 

O,  I  am  justly  punished  !  how  I  hate  these  gauds,  pur- 
chased, as  they  must  be,  by  days  of  misery ! 

[Music.  The  King  goes  rapidly  to  c.  and  off  R. 
The  Marchioness  enters,  and  at  a  signal  pom 
Don  Jose,  leads  out  Maritana,  who  is  in  tears, 
L.  c. 

Don  J. 

How  every  obstacle  that  stood  between  me  and  my 
desire  melts  into  air ! 

[Don  Cozsar  enters,  in  the  disguise  of  a  monk. 

Don  C. 

[Approaching  Don  Jose  with  great  humility. 

Alms  for  our  monastery,  son.         [Don  Jose  crosses  to  L. 
So,  Don  Jose,  here  I  am  once  more ! 

[  Throwing  off  disguise. 

Don  J. 

You!  Don  Caesar!  not  dead! 

Don  C. 
No !     Alive  and  kicking. 

Don  J. 

Who  saved  your  life  ? 

Don  C. 
You  did,  by  rescuing  me  from  the  gallows. 

Don  J. 

But   I   saw   you    led   out   to   execution ;  I   heard  the 
muskets. 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAN.  49 

Don  C. 

So  did  I.  [Aside. 

And  here  are  the  bullets  extracted  in  good  time  from 
the  guns  by  my  faithful  Lazarillo. 

[  Shows  bag  containing  bullets. 

Yes,  here  they  are,  six  in  number;  they're  belter  in  my 
pocket  than  in  my  body.  I  never  expected  to  receive 
them  with  so  much  satisfaction. 

Don  J. 
But  you  fell. 

Don  C. 

Of  course  I  did  ;  I  could  not  do  less  when  six  gallant 
soldiers  took  the  trouble  to  make  me  their  target ;  I  should 
have  wounded  their  pride  if  I  had  made  them  think  they 
had  missed  their  aim. 

Don  J. 
I  have  been  deceived. 

Don  C. 

And  so  have  I ;  the  illusion  was  so  perfect  that  I  really 
thought  I  was  dead,  and,  consequently,  all  my  creditors 
paid,  till  I  found  myself  among  some  of  my  old  com- 
panions with  a  dice-box  in  my  hand  and  a  flagon  before 
me. 

Don  J. 
Who  can  have  betrayed  me  ? 

Don  C.  [Aside. 

Thank  heaven,  he  does  not  suspect  the  dear  boy. 

[  Sitting,  unceremoniously — aloud. 
There  seems  to  be  a  fete  here  ? 


Don  J. 
There  is.     You  are  in  danger.     Why  did  you  come  ? 


50  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C. 

I  '11  tell  you,  if  you  '11  have  a  little  patience.  I  hap- 
pened to  see  a  carriage  with  my  own  arms  upon  it,  and, 
on  inquiry,  I  found  it  belonged  to  the  Countess  de  Bazan ; 
so  here  I  am.  Where  's  my  wife  ?  for  you  know  I  've  not 
much  time  to  lose,  if  the  sentence  of  that  cursed  edict  is 
to  be  respected. 

Don  J.  [Aside. 

He  is  not  aware  of  his  pardon.         [Aloud,  with  dignity. 
Tell  me,  Don  Caesar,  what  are  your  plans  ? 

Don  C. 

To  see  my  wife ;  she  's  mine,  and  I  may  as  well  take 
possession ;  you  gave  her  to  me,  and  I  have  come  to  you, 
therefore,  to  profit  by  your  benevolence. 

Don  J.  [Aside. 

Must  all  my  designs  be  thus  o'erthrown  ?  No,  it  shall 
not  be.  [Enter  Marquis  c. 

Marq. 

My  guests  are  merry  fellows,  they  do  nothing  but  drink 
to  the  Countess  de  Bazan. 

Don  C. 

The  deuce  they  do !  the  Countess  de  Bazan  !  my  wife  ! 
where  is  she  ? 

Marq. 

I  beg  pardon,  are  you  Don  Caesar  ?  Are  you  the  gentle- 
man that  is — not  dead  ? 

Don  J.  [Aside  to  Marquis. 

Not  a  word,  not  another  word  ;  evince  no  astonishment 
at  anything  you  hear  or  see.     Do  as  I  wish. 

Marq. 
And  the  lap-dogs  ? 


DON    C/ESAR    DE    BAZAN.  5 1 

Don  J. 

Shall  be  yours.  f  Crosses  to  Don  Ccesar.  —  Aloud. 

Don  Csesar,  your  rights  arc  sacred,  and  they  shall  be 
respected  ;  your  wife,  the  Countess  de  Bazan,  is  here,  and 
shall  join  you  immediately.     Wait  for  her.  [Exit  c. 

Don  C. 

She  comes,  and  I  shall  see  her  as  I  have  seen  her  in  my 
dreams,  radiant  in  youth  and  beauty. 

[  The  Marquis  is  going. 
Stay  near  me,  sir,  and  support  me  ;  I  am  sure  I  shall 
require  it ;  the  rapture  will  be  too  much  for  me  ;  that  soft, 
white  hand  haunts  me  like  a  spectre. 

[Enter  Don  Jose,  leading  in  Marchioness,  c. 

Marq.  [To  Don  Ccesar. 

Don't  agitate  yourself;  be  calm.  I  know  what  it  is  to 
await  the  coming  of  a  lovely  woman.  I  have  a  mar- 
chioness ! 

Don  J. 

[Looking  significantly  at  Marquis. 

Don  Caesar,  behold  the  Countess  de  Bazan  ! 

[Presents  Marchioness. 
Don  C. 

The  countess  —  the  devil ! 

Marq.  [Aside. 

He  's  giving  him  my  wife !  [  The  Marchioness  smiles. 

She  likes  it 

Don  C. 

[Bows  formally.  —  Aside. 

No  wonder  she  wore  a  veil !  sixty,  by  the  mass  ! 

Marq. 
He  's  struck  with  her  ! 


g2  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C.  [  To  Marquis. 

Will  you — will  you  show  me  the  nearest  way  to  the 
door  ? 

Don  J. 

Don  Cassar,  the  Countess  de  Bazan  is  prepared  to  fulfill 
all  the  duties  of  a  wife  to  him  —  who  has  the  right  to 
demand  them. 

Don  C. 

I  trust  she  will  make  no  sacrifice  on  my  account. 

[To  Don  Jose. 

You  can  make  out  another  warrant  for  my  execution  ;  I 
should  prefer  it  to  this.  [  To  Marquis. 

My  good  friend,  did  you  ever  see  such  a  perfect  Gor- 
gon ?     Frightful,  is  n't  she  ? 

Marq. 

Frightful,  Don  Caesar?  [Aside. 

The  man's  troubles  have  ruined  his  eyesight. 

Don  J. 

The  countess  awaits  your  bidding.  She  is  prepared  to 
share  your  state  and  fortunes. 

Don  C. 

Madam,  I  will  not  take  advantage  of  the  accident  of 
fate,  charmed  as  I  must  be  at  the  generosity  of  her  who 
would  share  the  lot  of  so  poor,  so  dunned,  so  desperate  a 
libertine  as  myself. 

Don  J. 

She  knew  your  position  when  she  consented  to  the 
union. 

Don  C. 

Did  she  ?     Then  I  will  not  be  outdone  in  generosity. 

[  Crosses  c. 
Madam,  I  will  not  take  you  from  those  to  whom  you 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAN.  53 

are  endeared  by  years  [Looks  at  her],  long  years  of  tender 
association.  At  your  age  —  I  mean  —  that  is — in  fact, 
madam,  I  free  you  from  every  tie;  I  am  no  longer  a 
husband.  [  To  Marquis. 

Did  you  ever  see  such  infernal  wrinkles  ? 

Marq. 

Dimples,  sir,  dimples  !  [Aside. 

I  shall  betray  myself — and  lose  the  lap-dogs. 

Don  C. 

Perhaps,  madam,  at  some  distant  period — some  very 
distant  period ■  No,  I  car,  never  venture.     [  To  Marquis. 

As  a  reasonable  man,  marquis,  I  ask  you,  if,  on  any 
consideration  in  the  world,  you  would  call  that  venerable 
woman  —  wife  ? 

Marq. 

Hem !  [Aside. 

This  is  too  bad.  [Aloud. 

If  you  don't  like  her  yourself,  you  need  n't  make  other 
people  dissatisfied. 

[Marquis  crosses  at  back  to  Marchioness. 

Don  C. 

Other  people !    Is  there  any  foo pray  let  me  not  stand 

in  anybody's  way. 

Don  J. 

[  Who  has  conversed  apart  with  the  Marchioness. 

Come,  let  us  end  this  business  ;  you  know,  Don  Caesar, 
that  the  object  of  this  marriage  was  your  title  and  not 
yourself. 

Don  C. 

I  am  willing  to  stand  by  that  bargain. 

Don  J. 
At  your  nuptials  you  had  scarcely  ten  minutes  to  live. 


54  DON  C7ESAR  de   bazan. 

Don  C. 
Ah,  I  was  happier  then  than  I  am  now. 

Don  J. 

The  countess  does  not  love  you. 

Don  C. 
What  wonderful  unanimity  in  man  and  wife ! 

Don  J. 

Your  chains  may  yet  be  golden  ones ;  your  wife  is  rich, 
you  have  nothing. 

Don  C. 

Your  estimate  of  my  property  is  singularly  exact. 

Don  J. 

You  shall  have  a  pension  of  six  thousand  piastres  if  you 
quit  Madrid  forever. 

Don  C. 

Quit  Madrid  ?  the  city  of  my  birth  !  the  home  of  my 
creditors!  —  the  last  apostrophe  has  decided  me;  I  '11  go. 

Don  J. 

You    must   also  renounce  all  right  acquired  by   your 
marriage. 

Don  C. 

Forego  the  bliss  of [Peeps  at  the  Marchioness. 

It 's  a  bargain. 

Don  J. 

Will  you  sign  a  paper  to  that  effect  ? 

Don  C.  [Hurries  to  table  l. 

Will  I  ?    Dictate   the   terms  —  the   more   binding   the 
better. 


DON    C/ESAR    DE    BAZAN.  55 

Don  J.  [Dictating 

Don  Caesar,  Count  de  Garofa,  engages,  on  the  honour 
of  a  gentleman,  to  quit  Madrid  forever. 

Don  C.  \ Pauses. 

Forever ;  my  poor  creditors  ! 

Don  J. 
And  renounces  the  Countess  de  Bazan,  his  wife. 

Don  C. 

Six  thousand  piastres  for  that !  I  would  have  sold  out 
for  half  the  money  !  [  Writes. 

My  wife. 

Don  J. 


Never  to 

claim 

the 

name  of  husband 
Don  C. 

O,  never, 

never 

1 

Don  J. 

Sign. 

Don  C. 

Don  C 

[A  set  vant  enters  at  back. 
Ser.  \  Calls. 

The  carriage  of  the  Countess  de  Bazan. 

[Pauses. 


Don  C. 

Eh! 

Don  J. 

Sign, 

sign, 

Don 

Caesar 

\ 

Ser. 

Make  Avay  for  the  Countess  de  Bazan. 

\Maritana  passes  at  back  from  l.  to  R.,  attended. 


56  DON   CiESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C. 

I  have  been  deceived ;  what  do  I  see  ? 

[Exit  Maritana  r.     Don  Ccesar  is  about  to  follow, 
when  Don  Jose  interposes. 

Don  J. 

Stay,  your  signature !  you  have  pledged  the  honour  of 
a  gentleman. 

Don  C.  [  Tears  the  paper. 

I  see  the  trick.     There ! 

Don  J. 

Don  Caesar,  remember  you  are  a  condemned  criminal  ; 
a  word  from  me  would  be  the  signal  of  your  death. 

Don  C. 

Ah !  at  last  you  throw  off  the  mask ;  now  we  understand 
each  other. 

Don  J. 

Flight  is  still  possible.     I  will  aid  you,  on  one  condition. 

Don  C. 
No !  no  more  shameful  bargains. 

Don  J. 

Be  warned !     Pursue  your  wife  a  single  step,  and  it  will 
lead  you  to  destruction. 

Don  C. 

She  is,  then,  my  wife  ?    Give  me  free  passage,  or  I  shall 
owe  the  law  another  life.     Away  ! 

[Pushes  him  aside,  and  rushes  offc.  and  R. 

Don  J. 

Ho !  guards ! 

[Soldiers  enter  from  L. 
Pursue  that  man ;    if  he  resist,   fire  upon  him  imme- 
diately. 

[Music.      Volley  of  musket ty  outside.      Tableau. 

CURTAIN. 


31ct  Cijirti. 

f  A  Chateau  in  the  Woods,  near  Madrid.     A 

&  I      Gothic  Saloon,  furnished.     Windows  and 

'j      Balcony  c.     Doors   r.  and  l.     Lazarillo 


DISCOVERED. 


Laza. 


All  is  prepared  for  the  arrival  of  Don  Jose.  What  can 
be  the  meaning  of  these  mysterious  proceedings  ?  This 
house  so  suddenly  engaged ;  this  lady  for  whom  he  seems 
to  entertain  so  great  a  respect  ?     Ah  !  he  is  here  ! 

\Enter  Don  Jose  l.  i.e. 

Don  J. 
Has  any  one  arrived  ? 

Laza. 

Yes,  my  lord,  the  lady ;  she  is  now  in  that  chamber. 

Don  J. 
The  servants  and  horses  ? 

Laza. 

Returned  instantly  to  Madrid.  Shall  I  announce  your 
lordship  ? 

Don  J. 

No.  Do  you  remember  the  cavalier  who  addressed  me 
yesterday,  near  the  Escurial  ? 

Laza. 
Yes,  my  lord ;  was  it  not  the  king  ? 


5« 


DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 


Don  J. 


Silence!  He  will  be  here  to-night;  he  alone  must  be 
admitted  to  this  apartment. 

Laza. 
Should  any  others  present  themselves,  my  lord  ? 

Don  J. 

Refuse  them  admittance.  If  they  insist,  you  have  your 
arquebuss  —  use  it. 

Laza. 
I  will  use  it,  my  lord. 

Don  J. 
Go  !  [Exit  Lazarillo  L.  i.e. 

This  Don  Caesar,  whom  I  thought  dead — how  did  he 
escape  ?  His  presence  at  this  moment  would  ruin  all.  I 
will  delay  no  longer ;  to-night  shall  see  my  plans  accom- 
plished. The  king  will  be  here  anon,  and  I  have  already 
despatched  a  message  to  the  queen,  apprizing  her  of  her 
husband's  infidelity.  She  comes  to-night  to  the  neighbour- 
ing palace  of  Aranguez ;  there  will  I  seek  her,  and  urge 
a  suit,  which,  in  revenge,  she  may  accord  me. 

[A  horn  at  a  distance. 
Ah !  the  signal  of  the  king. 

[Enter  Maritana  R.  i.e. 

Marit. 

What  means  that  ?     Ah  !  the  Count  de  Santarem ! 

Don  J.  [  With  ceremony. 

I  trust  that  my  orders  have  been  punctually  obeyed, 
madam ;  there  is  nothing  you  require  ? 

Marit. 
Nothing,  nothing,  I  thank  you. 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAN.  59 

Don  J. 

Then  your  bright  dreams  are  realized ;  you  have  title, 
splendour,  homage.  Did  I  not  prophesy  rightly,  madam  ? 
I  have  kept  every  promise. 

Marit. 

You  have,  Don  Jose;  though  the  Countess  de  Bazan 
already  regrets  the  wishes  of  Maritana. 

Don  J. 
Wherefore  ?  why  these  tears  ? 

Marit. 

O,  think  me  not  ungrateful  to  you  and  to  the  queen : 
but  'midst  the  splendour  which  surrounds  me,  I  often  sigh 
for  the  freedom  and  happy  thoughts  of  the  poor  dancing 
girl. 

Don  J. 
Hush! 

[ Enter  Lazarillo  L.  i.  E. 
Laza. 
He  is  here,  my  lord. 

Marit. 
Who? 

Don  J. 

Your  husband,  madam. 

Marit. 
My  husband  ! 

[  The  King  enters  l.  i.e.  Don  Jose  salutes  him 
respectfully,  and  signs  to  Lazarillo,  and  both  go 
out  L.   I.E. 

King. 

At  length  we  are  together.  [Aside. 

Maritana !  [Aloud. 


60  DON    CiESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Marit.  \Aside. 

Heaven  !  how  I  tremble,  even  at  his  voice ! 

King. 

Why  do  you  not  answer  me  ?  why  do  you  not  approach 
me  ? 

Marit. 
Pardon  me,  my  lord,  but 


King. 

Your  lips  are  colourless  [  Takes  her  hand] ;  your  hand  is 
icy  as  death. 

Marit. 

[  Withdrawing  her  hand. 
I  —  I  —  [Aside. 

I  cannot  speak. 

King. 

Wherefore  this  chilling  welcome  ?  are  you  not  happy  ? 

Marit.  {Aside. 

Happy !  [Aloud. 

How  shall  I  answer  you  ?  Can  you  wonder  at  my 
uneasiness  ?  Our  strange  marriage,  the  distance  which 
separates  us,  the  noble  and  the  beggar ;  I  still  feel  how 
much  you  are  my  superior ;  I  dare  not  raise  my  eyes  to 
yours  ;  I  —  I  fear  you. 

King. 

Fear  me  !  [  With  hauteur. 

We  would  know [Pauses. 

O,  Maritana,  how  you  wrong  me  by  such  feelings ! 
I  love  you,  and  would  sacrifice  all  to  know  my  love 
returned.  [Kisses  her  hand,  which  she  withdraws. 

Marit. 
O! 


DON    CAESAR   DE    BAZAN.  6 1 

King. 

What  ?  Don  Jose  told  me  you  waited  my  coming,  with 
impatience.     He  has  deceived  me. 

Marit. 
Not  you  alone,  my  lord ;  I  also  have  been  deceived. 

King. 

How  ? 

Marit.     . 

By  this  union.  The  husband  that  he  assigned  me  was 
one  proscribed  and  ruined ;  but  still  both  brave  and  noble. 
His  sword  was  ever  the  defender  of  the  weak  •  his  voice 
the  advocate  of  the  oppressed ;  where'er  he  went  mirth 
followed  after.  A  wanderer  like  myself,  I  felt  almost  his 
equal.  I  thought  that  he  would  know  my  heart,  and 
from  his  memory  of  the  past  forgive  the  errors  of  the 
present. 

King. 

Nor  shall  you  be  deceived.  Each  luxury  shall  minister 
to  your  desires.  My  love  shall  be  so  prodigal,  that,  in 
despite  of  all,  you  shall  return  my  passion. 

[Attempts  to  embrace  her. 
Marit.  [Recoiling. 

Unhand  me,  count;  unhand  me. 

King.  [Enraged. 

I  understand.  You  love  another,  Maritana;  your  heart, 
I  thought,  never  beat  with  passion  or  desire.  I  am  de- 
ceived. For  this  I've  made  you  what  you  are!  Ingrate! 
To  your  chamber,  madam ;  you  must  learn  the  duty  you 
owe  your  lord  and  husband. 

Marit. 

I  obey  you  ;  you  have  reason  for  your  anger ;  I  obey 
you,  my  lord  and  my  master.  [Exit  r.  i.e. 

8 


62  DON    CJESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

King. 

Does  she  relent  ?  why  should  I  hesitate  ? 

[  Going  towards  r. 
She  may  yet  be  won. 

[A  shot  heard.    Don  Ccesar  enters,  over  balcony,  c. 

Don  C. 

That 's  a  villainous  way  to  receive  a  guest.  What  the 
devil  have  I  done  to  be  continually  made  a  target  ? 

[Lazarillo  enters,  with  an  arquebuss  in  his  hand. 

Laza.  [  Starts. 

Ah  !   Don  Caesar  !  [Exit  Lazarillo  c. 

Don  C. 
Well !  [Sees  the  King. 

Pardon,  signor,  I  had  not  the  honour  of  seeing  you  till 
this  moment. 

King. 

Why  did  you  enter  by  that  window  ? 

Don  C. 
Well,  signor,  because  the  door  was  shut ! 

King. 
I  am  in  no  humour  for  jesting  :  what  is  your  motive  ? 

Don  C. 

A  pardonable  one.  By  the  light  of  the  moon,  I  saw  in 
the  next  balcony  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  I  wished  to 
speak  to  her. 


What,  sir  ? 


King. 


DON   C7ESAR   DE    BAZAN.  63 

Don  C. 

I  knocked  at  the  door ;  the  porter  refused  me  admit- 
tance :  how  was  I  to  get  in  ?  There  was  but  one  opening, 
and  that  was  this  window  ;  I  was  about  to  ascend,  when 
whizz  came  a  bullet  through  my  hat.     [Shows  hole  in  hat. 

Sacred  hospitality,  how  you  are  insulted  ! 

King. 
What  is  your  business  with  this  lady  ? 

Don  C. 

Pardon  me,  I  never  violate  confidence;  I  merely  wish  — 
to  see  her — that 's  all. 

King, 

Impertinent !     1  desire  you  to  quit  the  room. 

Don  C. 

After  the  trouble  I  've  had  to  get  here  ?      Are  you 

King. 

The  master  of  this  house. 

Don  C. 

The  master  of  this  house — hum!  this  house,  where  I 
have  seen  the  Countess  de  Bazan  ! 

King. 
You  know  her,  then  ? 

Don  C. 

Very  slightly;  I  've  only  seen  her.  But,  if  she  resides 
here,  may  I  ask  your  name  ? 

King.  |  Haughtily. 

I  am 

[Pauses,    and  looks   at  the   door    of  Afaritana's 
eh  aw  her. 
I  am  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan.  [The  King  sits. 


64  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C. 

Eh  !     Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  !  [Aside. 

Egad !  I  excel  the  Phoenix,  for  two  Don  Caesars  have 
arisen  from  my  ashes. 

King. 

Now  that  I  have  satisfied  you,  I  demand  to  know  your 
name. 

Don  C.  [Aside. 

The  unblushing  rascal ! 

[Enter  Lazarillo  l.  i.e. 
Laza. 

[  J  J  'hispers  aside  to  Don  Ccesar. 
It  is  the  king. 

Don  C. 
Eh,  Lazarillo.  [Exit  Lazarillo  l.  i.  e. 

King. 

You  hesitate,  sir. 

Don  C.  [Aside. 

The  king  here  !     I  understand  all. 

King. 

My  question  embarrasses  you.     I  demand  an  answer. 

Don  C. 

Certainly.  If  you  are  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  [Seats  him- 
self l.  with  dignity,  and  places  his  hat  on  his  head],  I  am 
the  king  of  Spain. 

A'ing. 

What !     The  king  ? 

Don  C. 

The  —  king — of —  Spain . 

King. 

You! 


DON    C.VSAK    DE    BAZAN.  65 

Don  C. 

\  Tauntingly  and  pleasantly. 

As  surely  as  you  are  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan.  Ah  !  it 
astonishes  you  to  see  majesty  unattended,  at  this  hour  of 
the  night,  at  the  door  of  a  pretty  woman  who  is  not  the 
queen.  There  's  nothing  surprising  in  it,  I  assure  you.  I 
was  out  of  spirits  —  kings  require  relaxation  sometimes; 
but,  not  a  word  of  this  royal  folly ;  though  with  you,  Don 
Caesar,  I  may  rest  satisfied.  You  will  not  betray  our 
secret  ? 

King.  [Aside. 

Insolent !     Who  can  he  be  ? 

[T/w  King  rises  and  removes  his  hat. 

Don  C. 

Ha!  by  the  by,  I  remember  Don  Caesar  —  I  know  all 
my  subjects — a  witty,  gallant  fellow,  somewhat  of  my  own 
humour.  He  wounded  the  captain  of  our  guard,  in  a 
duel,  in  spite  of  our  royal  edict.  He  was  shot  in  the  outer 
court  of  the  barrack.  [Kises  and  advances  to  the  King. 

Be  kind  enough  to  answer  me  one  question.  —  If  you 
are  Don  Caesar,  what  right  have  you  to  be  alive  ?  If  I 
were  to  denounce  you,  every  loyal  Spaniard  would  be 
ready  to  pink  you.  [Calmly. 

But  we  will  not  betray  you. 

King. 
Your  majesty  forgets 

Don  C. 

'T  is  possible.  The  keeper  of  the  king's  memory  has 
gone  hunting  with  the  keeper  of  the  king's  conscience. 
But  what  has  our  majesty  forgotten  ? 

King. 

You  forget  that  Don  Caesar  received  the  pardon  of  the 
king. 


66 

DON 

CVESAR    DE 

BAZAN. 

Indeed ! 

Don  C. 

King. 

At 

eight 

o'clock  on 

the  night  of  his  condemnation 

Don  C. 

His  pardon  at  eight !  [Aside. 

But  I  was  shot  at  seven.  \Aloud. 

I  do  remember;  we  did  pardon  Don  Csesar  —  an  hour 
too  late.  [Aside. 

Though  I  don't  grumble. 

King. 

You  see  it  would  be  useless  to  denounce  me. 

Don  C. 

As  useless  as  for  me  to  retain  a  title  which  does  not 
belong  to  me. 

King. 

Then  you  are  not  the  king  of  Spain  ? 

Don  C. 

No  ;  [Don  Ccesar  uncovers:  King  puts  on  hat. 

You  suspected  as  much,  I  suppose.     Am  I  right  ? 

King. 

And  you  are 

[Enter  Lazarillo  L.  i.e. 

Don  C. 

A  man  who  need  not  fear  to  meet  a  legion  of  alguazils. 
I  am 

Laza. 

Sire,  a  private  messenger. 

[Kneels  and  gives  letter.     Don  Ccesar  retires. 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAN.  67 

King. 
What  is  this  ?  {Reads. 

Eh!  treason!     The  queen  knows  of  my  absence  ?     Is 
at  the  palace  of  Aranguez  ?     My  horse,  boy ;  stay. 

[Aside  to  Lazarillo. 
You  are  attached  to  Don  Jose  ? 

Laza. 
Yes,  sire. 

King. 

Keep  close  watch  on  that  man.     Let  him  be  removed ; 
and  above  all,  learn  his  name.  [Exit  l.  i.  e. 

Laza. 
Don  Caesar,  is  it  you  ? 

Don  C.    ■ 
Yes,  me,  whom  you  rescued  from  a  dishonourable  death. 

Laza. 
I  had  nigh  performed  the  office  of  executioner  myself. 

Don  C.  [Shows  hat. 

True. 

Laza. 
But  I  knew  not  that  it  was  you.     I 


Don  C. 

Psha  !  could  1  doubt  you,  Lazarillo  ?     But  tell  me,  am 
I  to  leave  this  house  ? 

Laza. 
Such  are  my  orders. 

Don  C. 

If  I  refuse  —  if  I  resist  ? 


68  DON    CjESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Laza. 

Resist !  Who  will  oppose  you  ?  I  am  the  servant  of 
Don  Cassar. 

Don  C. 

Good  lad  !  should  I  ever  grow  rich 

Laza. 
You  will  retain  me  in  your  service. 

Don  C. 

Service !  you  shall  have  a  dozen  lacqueys  to  wait  on 
you ;  but,  Lazarillo,  there  is  a  lady  in  this  house  ? 

Laza. 
Yes. 

Don  C. 

I  wish  to  see  her  —  you  must  take  me  to  her. 

[Enter  Maritana  r.  2.  e. 

Laza. 
She  is  here,  my  lord. 

Man/. 
A  stranger ! 

Don  C. 
Leave  us,  Lazarillo.  [Exit  Lazarillo  l.  i.  e. 

Well,  madam,  we  have  met  at  last  [Maritana  starts  and 
listens  intently  ;  as  her  recognition  of  him  occurs,  she  evinces 
pleasure]  —  not  without  some  trouble  and  danger  on  my 
part.  I  've  been  hunted  by  a  full  pack  of  alguazils,  and 
fired  at  by  a  tolerably  good  marksman,  and  all  for  this 
interview. 

Marit. 

That  voice  !  you  are 

Don  C. 

Your  husband,  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan. 


DON    GfliSAR    DE    HAZAN.  69 

Marit 

You. 

Don  C. 

Maritana,  I  know  all.  Vou  thought  my  death  was  cer- 
tain ;  you  paused  not  to  acquire  the  title  you  coveted  even 
in  a  prison.  When  you  left  the  altar,  you  listened  for 
the  sounds  that  were  to  bring  death  to  me  and  liberty  to 
you. 

Marit.  [Horror-stricken. 

What  say  you  ? 

Don  C. 

Thus  did  you,  to  acquire  title  and  a  name  which  you 
have  consigned  to  infamy. 

Marit. 

'T  is  false  !  I  have  never  wronged  my  husband's  honour, 
even  in  thought.  [Tenderly. 

But  are  you  indeed  my  husband  ?  another  has  claimed 
the  title  of  Don  Cassar,  and 

Don  C. 

Mockery !  The  king  of  Spain  needs  not  the  influence 
of  so  poor  a  name. 

Marit. 
The  king  of  Spain  ! 

Don  C. 

Ay,  the  king  of  Spain !  Royal  wooers  seldom  sue  in 
vain. 

Marit. 

Stay;  prove  to  me  your  right  to  question,  and  I  will 
answer  all.  What  proof  have  you  to  give  that  you  are  not 
deceiving  me  —  that  you  are  my  husband  ? 

Don  C. 

What  proof?     My  honour. 
9 


70  DON    OESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Marit. 

Ah !  you  spoke  to  me  but  once.  Do  you  ^member 
the  words  you  then  addressed  to  me  ? 

Don  C. 

Perfectly,  madam :  "  To  you  I  devote  the  rest  of  my 
existence." 

Marit. 

You  are  my  husband ;  those  are  the  words  you  uttered ! 

[She  is  advancing — he  repels  her. 

Don  C. 
Your  pardon,  madam ;  your  royal  lover  brooks  no  rival. 

Marit. 

O,  Don  Caesar — husband  !  let  not  my  sufferings  be  thus 
repaid.  Hear  me,  and  then  condemn  me  if  you  can.  On 
the  day  —  I  —  I  saved  you  from  the  fury  of  the  mob,  fate 
threw  me  in  the  way  of  one  who  professed  an  interest  in 
my  welfare,  and  told  me  he  was  commissioned  by  the 
queen  to  raise  me  to  the  station  I  coveted.     The  means 

proposed  were 

Don  C.  [Sarcastically. 

Most  honourable. 

Marit. 

Yes,  most  honourable ;  for  in  marrying  you,  I  believed 
I  wedded  one  who  had  professed  a  regard  for  me  : 

[  Tremulously. 
One  for  whom  I  had  felt  a  deeper  interest  than  for  any 
other  being. 

Don  C. 
Are  you  deceiving  ? 

Marit. 

Are  these  tears  the  offspring  of  deceit  ? 

[Seizes  his  hand  and  kneels. 


DON    C/liSAR    DE    KAZAN.  71 

O,  husband !  I  have  suffered  for  my  pride ;  but  be  thou 
the  judge  how  I  have  preserved  thy  honour.  And  if  you 
find  me  faithless,  kill  me. 

Don  C. 

Fearful  conditions,  Maritana ! 

Marit. 

I  dare  abide  them.  O,  Don  Caesar!  you  know  nol 
what  a  thing  of  power  that  love  has  grown,  which  had  its 
birth  almost  at  the  altar.  The  hours  of  fear  and  self- 
reproach  which  I  have  passed  have  made  your  image  an 
idol  to  my  heart. 

Don  C.  [Embracing  her. 

I  must  believe  you,  Maritana.  Don  Caesar,  the  advent- 
urer, is  no  more;  the  Count  Garofa  will  live  worthy  of 
his  name,  since  you  must  share  it  with  him.     [Drum  heard. 

Ah  !  soldiers  approach  the  house. 

Marit. 
Then  fly  ;  save  yourself. 

Don  C. 
Fly,  when  the  king  is  at  your  chamber  door  ? 

Marit 

Fear  not  for  me ;  go  to  the  queen.  She  is  at  Aran- 
guez ;  tell  her  that  Maritana  is  in  danger.  She  will  rescue 
me. 

Don  C. 

Not  whilst  I  have  a  sword  to  second  a  stout  heart. 

Marit.  [Clinging to  him. 

I  know  how  much  I  ask  of  you,  who  would  rather  trust 
to  your  own  arm  than  seek  succour  of  a  woman.  But  for 
my  sake  —  for  her  who  will  prove  how  deeply  she  adores 
you  —  go  to  the  queen. 


72  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C.  [Kisses  her. 

To  the  queen ! 

[Exit  Don  Cozsar  c. 

[Enter  Lazarillo  L.  i.  E. 
Laza. 
Madam,  the  king. 

Marit. 
"What  is  to  be  done  ?     Do  not  leave  me,  Lazarillo. 

Laza. 
He  will  order  me  to  withdraw. 

Marit. 

True,  you  must  obey  him ;  but  at  least  let  me  have 
some  protection.  [Takes  a  dagger  from  his  girdle. 

At  the  worst,  this  will  free  me  from  his  power. 

[  The  King  enters  L.  i .  E. 
King.  [  To  Lazarillo. 

Where  is  the  stranger  that  I  left  here  ? 

Laza. 
Gone,  sire. 

King. 

What  brought  him  here  ? 

Laza. 

He  had  escaped  from  prison,  sire. 

King. 

Leave  us. 

[Lazarillo  looks  at  Maritana. 

Marit. 

Lazarillo,  obey  the  orders  of  his  majesty. 

[Exit  Lazarillo  L.  i.e. 


don  Caesar  de  bazan.  73 

King. 
Majesty  !  who  has  dared  to  betray  me  ? 

Marit. 

He  that  has  betrayed  you,  sire,  is  the  same  who  coun- 
selled you  to  commit  a  meanness  unworthy  of  a  king. 

King. 
How,  madam  ? 

Marit. 

He  who  has  made  a  mockery  of  the  altar —  who  brought 
you  to  me  as  my  husband,  the  Count  de  Bazan. 

King. 

Maritana,  I  am  the  king.  My  pride  has  long  revolted 
at  the  deceit  we  practised  on  you.  Now  that  you  know 
me  for  what  I  am,  listen  to  me. 

Marit. 
Leave  me,  sire,  I  implore  you. 

King. 

Leave   you!  you  —  the   only   one   I    have   ever  truly 

loved  ? 

Marit. 

O,  sire  !  in  pity  go.     Be  generous — be  merciful. 

King. 
But  one  embrace  —  one. 

Marit.  [Draws  dagger. 

One  step  nearer,  and  I  strike. 

[  Offers  at  her  own  breast. 


74  CON    CESAR    DE    EAZAN. 

King. 

What,  Maritana,  am  I  so  loathsome  to  you  ? 

Marit. 

No,  sire;  but   I   am  wife  of  one  who    must   find    me 
worthy  of  him,  or  find  me  no  more. 

King. 
Of  whom  speak  you  ? 

Marit. 

Of  my  husband,  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan. 

King. 
He  is  dead. 

[Don  Ccesar  enters  c. 
Don  C. 

Not  yet,  sire,  thanks  to  your  majesty's  gracious  pardon. 

Marit. 

Ha !  [Crosses  to  him  and  throws  down  dagger. 

My  husband  will  protect  me. 

King. 

Your  husband  ! 

[Don  Casar  crosses  L.,  locks  door  and  takes  out  key. 
What  have  you  done,  sir? 

Don  C. 

Locked  the  door,  sire,  that  no  one  may  enter — that  no 
pne  may  hear  that  to  which  we  alone  should  listen. 

Marit.  [Aside. 

What  will  be  the  end  of  this  ? 


DON   CAESAR   DE    BAZAN.  75 

Don  C.  [Fiercely. 

If  the  persecutor  of  my  wife  had  been  a  gentleman  and 
soldier  like  myself,  I  fear  that  I  should  have  denied  him 
even  the  chance  of  an  encounter — I  think  that  at  once  I 
should  have  dispatched  him ;  for  in  such  a  case  one  does 
not  look  for  reparation,  but  revenge ;  you,  sire,  are  my 
king  [Kneels  and  presents  his  sword],  and  thus  do  I  disarm 
my  vengeance. 

King. 
You  are  speaking,  sir,  to  the  king  of  Spain. 

Don  C. 

To  whom  else  should  I  speak  ?  We  cannot  always 
subdue  the  will  or  restrain  the  hand.  I  will  render  both 
powerless.  [  Throws  away  sword. 

But,  reparation  must  be  made.  [Rises. 

King.  [  With  effort. 

Proceed,  sir ;  your  audacity  pleases  me. 

Marit. 

Remember,  Don  Caesar,  it  is  your  king. 

Don  C. 

Yes,  it  is  my  king.  Sire,  this  poor,  weak  woman,  against 
whom  such  power  has  combined,  has  sought  the  protection 
of  our  beloved  queen. 

King. 

The  queen ! 

Don  C. 
Yes,  sire,  I  was  her  messenger  to  the  palace  of  Aranguez. 

King. 
Then  you  have  seen  the  queen  ? 


jf-  DON    CAESAR   DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C 

You  shall  hear,  sire.  When  I  arrived  at  the  palace,  I 
was  denied  admittance  :  but,  regardless  of  the  guns  of  the 

sentinels 

Marit. 

Ah  !  you  have  been  in  danger ! 

Don  C. 
No ;  you  forget  that  I  am  bullet-proof. 

King. 
Well,  well. 

Don  C. 

I  climbed  the  garden  wall ;  under  the  shadow  of  some 
trees,  I  crept  close  to  a  pavilion,  whence  proceeded  two 
voices  —  those  of  a  man  and  a  woman.  The  woman, 
though  greatly  moved,  spoke  proudly;  the  voice  of  the 
man  trembled  with  passionate  emotion.  I  heard  this — 
"Madam,  you  are  deceived — your  husband  meets  his 
mistress  to-night.  Some  officers  of  the  king  shall  follow 
him  to  a  secluded  chateau  in  the  forest,  and  bring  you 
proof  of  his  infidelity." 

King. 

Who  has  dared  to  place  a  watch  upon  my  actions  ? 

Don  C. 

The  man  was  Don  Jose  de  Santarem,  your  favourite 
minister;  the  lady  was  —  the  queen. 

King. 
'T  is  false  !  if  it  were  true 


[Crosses  towards  door  l.  i.  e. 

Don  C.  [Coolly. 

Your  majesty  forgets  that  I  have  locked  the  door. 

King. 
Traitor ! 


DON    CVESAR    DE    BAZAX.  J-j 

Don  C. 

I  told  you,  sire,  that  reparation  must  be  made;  do  you 
understand  me  now  ?  The  minister  betrays  his  king;  the 
subject  would  dishonour  his  queen. 

King. 

Don  Caesar,  on  your  allegiance  open  that  door. 

Don  C. 

The  wrong  you  would  have  inflicted  on  me,  another 
now  practises  towards  you;  yet  you  cannot  leave  this  room. 

[  The  King  falls  in  a  chair. 

Each  moment  is  an  age  of  agony,  and  yet  you  cannot 

quit  this  place  to  satisfy  your  doubt.     All  that  you  made 

me  suffer  you  are  now  enduring ;  and  yet  you  cannot  stir 

but  at  my  will. 

King.  [Points  to  door. 

Don  Caesar,  at  your  peril  hesitate  a  moment  longer. 

Don  C. 

This  retribution  is  terrible,  is  it  not  ? 

King. 
Take  up  your  sword.  [Rises. 

I  am  a  king  no  longer;  your  treason  forces  me  to 
become  your  equal.  Defend  yourself,  and  save  me  from 
becoming  an  assassin. 

Marit. 

[Crosses  c.  and  is  put  back  by  Don  Cccsar. 
O,  sire,  for  heaven's  sake  ! 

King. 
Take  up  your  sword,  or  I  will  strike. 

Don  C. 
You  will  be  too  late. 

King. 

Too  late  !     How  ? 
10 


yg  DON    CESAR    DE    BAZAN. 

Don  C. 

When  did  a  Spanish  gentleman  hesitate  to  avenge  an 
insult  to  his  king  ?  Think  you  1  have  spared  the  man  who 
would  have  made  my  dishonour  the  stepping-stone  to 
yours  ?  No,  sire,  I  have  struck.  Sire,  your  honour  is 
preserved.     It  is  now  your  turn  to  deal  with  mine. 

[Kneels  and  points  to  Mariiana. 

King.  [Raises  him. 

Rise,  Don  Caesar. 

[Drum  heard,  and  cries  of  "  The  King  /  The 
King  /  "  Don  C.  unlocks  door.  Lazarillo  and 
Nobles  enter. 

All. 
It  is  the  king. 

King. 

Yes,  gentlemen,  we  have  visited  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan, 
one  of  our  most  faithful  servants.  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan, 
we  have  appointed  you  governor  of  Valencia. 

Don  C. 

The  government  of  Granada  is  vacant,  sire. 

King. 
Why  rather  Granada  than  Valencia  ? 

Don  C. 

Granada  is  twice  the  distance  from  Madrid  \Points  to 
Mariiana],  and  that  doubles  the  obligation ;  and  besides, 
there  I  've  no  creditors. 

King. 

Be  it  as  you  wish.  We  appoint  our  faithful  subject, 
Don  Caesar  de  Bazan,  governor  of  Granada. 

[Flourish.     Picture. 

CURTAIN. 


AA    000  609  909    7 


